


Lost Without You

by Obsessionist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Episode: s08e17 Goodbye Stranger, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8542651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsessionist/pseuds/Obsessionist
Summary: Dean and Sam are hostages in a stand off between Crowley and Naomi. Castiel has to make a choice, and deal with the consequences. Will Dean ever forgive him? // Alternate ending to 8x17 Goodbye Stranger





	1. Chapter 1

 

 A fierce battle raged within him.

 

Independent thought and free will grappled with centuries lived in unquestioning obedience to the orders of Heaven. His desire to help the humans fought against the drive to complete his objective. The deep-seated trust he had in two stalwart hunters struggled against the instinct to eliminate any threat to the Angel tablet. Belief in the Winchesters combated the blind faith he had been taught to have in his superiors. Emotions battered against the cold, ruthless nature of a Hammer of God.

 

And a frantic pulse of _Dean, Dean, Dean, DEAN_ thundered through his veins, trying desperately to drown out the order shrieking in his head to _kill him, Castiel, kill him now!_

 

Months of brainwashing had conditioned Castiel to obey. Years of friendship screamed at him not to. The opposing wills were slashing, clawing, tearing at each other, ripping him apart.

 

The agonising pain brought on by doubt, confusion, hesitation and disobedience could only be relieved by the brutal collision of his fist with flesh and bone, and even then only for a moment. He kept pounding mercilessly as he felt bones shatter, skin split and blood gush over his knuckles. A flailing, fighting limb was snapped as easily as a toothpick, twisted and held tight to restrain his victim. The man was pinned, trapped, helpless.

 

But Castiel couldn't deliver the killing blow. Not with green eyes staring up at him from a face battered, bruised and barely recognisable, filled with the hurt of betrayal, fearful and pleading. He knew those eyes.

 

_Dean._

Naomi sensed his hesitation, tried to drag his attention back to the task she had assigned him. _Bring me the tablet!_

_Dean,_ his mind repeated stubbornly. _Dean, Dean, Dean._

_Kill him!_

_De-_

_KILL HIM!_

 

He wasn't strong enough to fight it. He could feel his resistance crumbling, stone walls of courage and will tumbling to dust and ruin. Under Naomi's training and tutelage he had already killed Dean over and over and over; what was once more?

 

He stood towering over the human, powerful like he had not been since he surrendered the souls from Purgatory. If he did this, he would be welcomed back to Heaven as a hero. He just had to squash this one little ant. One ant. It was nothing. Dean was nothing.

 

“Cas. _Cas.”_ It was a tortured wheeze, choked with blood. “I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me.”

 

His words were meaningless. Castiel held the blade poised, ready to end this man’s existence once and for all.

 

“Cas, it’s me.” His unbroken arm was raised in supplication, reaching for him, pleading.

 

Castiel was stoic, unmoved. He knew what had to be done.

 

“We’re family.”

 

He almost wavered, but he knew the human was just trying to manipulate him. The angels were his family. He was doing this for them.

 

“We need you.”

 

Emotion jolted in his chest. No – but… the angels needed him more. Didn’t they?

 

 “…I need you.”

 

The world stopped. The noise stopped. The chaos and confusion and doubt and madness – it all stopped.

 

In that moment, there was only Cas and Dean and three words that meant everything.

 

_I need you._

 

Something roared to life within him, burning through the haze in his mind and the veil Naomi had drawn over his eyes.

 

He saw Dean, _really_ saw him.

 

The Righteous Man who had sacrificed everything for his brother. The human who had almost lost his humanity in the pit. The broken soul immersed in darkness that had cowered from the light but then embraced salvation when it was offered. The damaged body Castiel had made whole. The wounded hunter who never gave up the fight. The man who had shown him the difference between right and wrong and taught him to screw destiny in favour of forging his own path.

 

Dean was the one who helped Castiel pick up the pieces after he Fell. Dean gave him hope and purpose and someone to believe in. Dean made him feel like he belonged. Dean laughed at his lack of social skills, but patiently showed him how to navigate the strange complexities of the human world.  Dean kept him accountable for his actions, pulling him back from the brink time and again. When he screwed up so badly that he thought there could be no redemption, Dean forgave him. Dean searched for him in Purgatory even after Castiel had abandoned him. Dean tried his best to save him, even when he didn’t want to be saved. He always tried to save him.

 

Somehow, everything Castiel needed was personified in this one man. He depended on Dean like no other, and Dean bore that burden without reluctance or complaint. It meant a great deal to him, and Castiel was beyond grateful.

 

But for Dean to admit that he needed Castiel as well… that meant everything.

 

“Cas.”

 

Three letters. One syllable. Castiel’s nickname, given to him by Dean as a token of friendship and a symbol of camaraderie.

 

It broke the dam.

 

His grip slackened. The sword fell, clattering on the stone floor.

 

There might have been a glimmer of relief in Dean’s eyes but, as adrenaline receded and as he pulled his injured arm away, it was swiftly overwhelmed by raw agony. Dean curled in on himself with a moan, bloodied and broken by Castiel’s own hand.

 

Castiel couldn’t bear to look at him, to see what he had done.

 

In his desperation to be distracted from the pain he had caused, he became aware of a strange thudding sound, reverberating in his head. There was a drum beat nearby. It called to him.

 

Instinctively, Castiel looked to the tablet. No longer the objective of his Heaven-ordained mission, it was all the more captivating. Reaching for it was only natural. Touching it swept away the last vestiges of Naomi’s mind control in a flood of white light, leaving Castiel free at last.

 

The knowledge brought him no comfort. If anything, the guilt weighed heavier.

 

He could feel that he was expected to protect the tablet, but all he could think about was the man kneeling before him. Though Dean teetered on the precipice of unconsciousness, he wouldn’t let go. He was still wary of Castiel’s intentions. Still afraid.

 

Castiel had nearly killed him.

 

He needed to make this right.

 

He reached out to heal the injuries he had inflicted –

 

Only for Dean’s head to be jerked out of his reach, baring his throat to the sharp blade of an Angel sword.

 

“Naomi!” Castiel gasped. She had materialised behind Dean and seized him within the blink of an eye, too fast for Castiel to do anything to stop her.

 

“You disobedient _child_ ,” Naomi snarled, yanking on a fistful of Dean’s hair to crane his neck back further. He made a choked sound and tried to reach up with his good hand to break her hold, but she dug the tip of the sword in deeper, drawing blood. Her attention was all on Castiel, though, cold eyes boring into his. “Why do you never do as you are told?”

 

“Let him go.”

 

“No. It is clear that this pathetic human is the only way to get through to you.” She dragged the blade lightly across Dean’s throat, a thin line of blood spilling in its wake.

 

Terror shot through him. People were fragile – _Dean_ was fragile. One deep slash would kill him, and Naomi had enough power to make sure his death was permanent. “Stop!” he begged. “Don’t hurt him!”

 

“You have already done that, Castiel. And I will finish the job, unless-”

 

“Unless what?” In his desperation to save Dean, he was willing to offer anything.

 

“Unless you hand over the tablet. Right now.”

 

Startled, Castiel looked down at the stone he still had cradled to his chest. He had almost forgotten about it, but now the steady drum beat grew louder in his mind, urging him to protect the tablet at all costs.

 

His gaze was dragged inexorably back to Dean. Green eyes were begging Castiel – not to save him, he realised, but to keep the tablet from falling into Heaven’s hands.

 

Castiel was torn.

 

 _“Castiel!”_ Naomi snapped. “The tablet. _Now._ ”

 

“A-a-ah, sweetheart,” a voice drawled. Crowley appeared in the doorway, dragging a bloodied Sam into the room by his hair and dumping him unceremoniously on the floor. The demon dusted his hands and flashed a charming grin. “You’re not the only one with a bargaining chip, Naomi dearest.”

 

“Crowley,” Naomi sneered. Dean strained to see what was going on and Naomi yanked his head back harder in punishment. He grunted with pain but she ignored him. “You risk much by coming here, demon.”

 

“Actually, I think I’m pretty safe. There is an army of demons swarming into this building as we speak. Besides, you’ve got your hands full with that one.”

 

“The tablet is ours!”

 

“Well now, that’s up to our little nerd angel. What do you say, Castiel?” Crowley said. “I’ll trade you the Moose for the tablet.”

 

“Sam?” At the mention of his brother Dean resumed his frantic struggles against Naomi’s hold, scratching up his neck further in the process. Blood dripped liberally from his wounds, but the jugular had not been severed. Yet. Dean seemed heedless of the danger. “Sam! Sammy, answer me!”

 

Sam groaned, stirring faintly. Crowley pressed a boot down on his neck, pinning him to the floor. “Down, boy,” he smirked. “Don’t fret, Squirrel, I haven’t hurt him. Much.”

 

“You _bastard_! Let my brother go, or so help me-”

 

Crowley _tsk_ ed, shaking his head. “Dean, Dean, Dean. You are hardly in a position to be making threats. I am afraid this one isn’t up to you. This is all on your boyfriend. So what’ll it be, Castiel?”

 

Castiel looked helplessly between the two brothers. His responsibility to the tablet demanded that he vanish now, abandoning the Winchesters to their fate. Dean’s love for his brother demanded that he trade the tablet for Sam. His duty to Heaven demanded that he keep the tablet from falling into enemy hands. His fear for Earth’s future if the angels gained even more power demanded he take the tablet as far away from Heaven’s reach as possible.

 

But his heart…

 

“Tick tock, Castiel,” Crowley taunted. “You have ten seconds before I break Sammy’s neck.”

 

“Cas, _please_ ,” Dean begged. “My brother-”

 

“No, Castiel! If Crowley gets the tablet he will destroy all of us. Give it to me.”

 

“If you do that, Sam dies. 8 seconds.”

 

“If you don’t, Dean dies!”

 

“Let them go!”

 

“5 seconds.”

 

“You cannot betray Heaven again. Too many of your brethren have already died by your hand, Castiel! Give me the tablet and you may yet redeem yourself!”

 

“No, Cas. Save Sam. Please. You owe me that much. Don’t let the bastard kill my baby brother. Please.”

 

“2 seconds.”

 

“ _Cas_!”

 

There was raw desperation in Dean’s voice. Castiel knew that Dean had lived his entire life protecting his brother. All he had worked for, all he wanted was for Sam to be safe and happy. He would give anything. He would die for him.

 

Dean was right. Castiel owed him. And he would do anything, _anything_ for Dean.

 

Decision made, Castiel moved to pass the tablet to Crowley.

 

“I’ll kill him, Castiel!” Naomi screeched. Her eyes were wild. Mad. She wasn’t bluffing.

 

Even as Crowley stretched out a hand to grasp the stone, the muscles in Naomi’s arm bunched, preparing for the killing thrust through Dean’s chin up into his skull.

 

Dean was going to die.

 

In that instant, all reason and logic fled.

 

Castiel flung the tablet at Naomi, forcing her to drop the sword in order to catch it. Not pausing to hear Crowley’s roar of fury or to see Naomi’s expression of triumph, Castiel lurched forward and slapped his palm firmly against Dean’s forehead.

 

“ _Cas-_ ”

 

Angel and human vanished.

 

ooOOoo


	2. Chapter 2

“- _no!_ ” Dean’s scream of protest echoed through the bunker, raw and desperate and laden with fury. He was on his feet in an instant, whirling on the angel who had whisked him away to safety without his consent. “Cas, you _bastard_! Take me back! Take me back right now!”

 

The reality of what he had done crashed down around him. He had gone against Dean’s wishes. He had given Naomi the tablet. Worse, he had left Sam in the hands of a demon. “Dean,” he gasped. “I’m sorry-”

 

“No. _NO!_ Save Sam! I told you to save Sam!”

 

He had meant to. He didn’t know what had happened. He had acted without thinking. “Dean, I’m sorry, I should have-”

 

“Don’t! You can’t hide behind apologies, Cas. Don’t tell me you’re sorry, do something to _fix this_!”

 

“I can’t. It’s too late-”

 

“NO! Sam isn’t dead!”

 

Castiel hated to be the voice of reason, but Dean clearly wasn’t thinking straight. “If he isn’t then Crowley has him, and he will be long gone by now-”

 

“No, damn it! This isn’t happening!”

 

“Yes it is, Dean. I made my choice, and we have to deal with the consequences-”

 

“The _consequences_?” Dean barged into his personal space, grabbing a fistful of Castiel’s trench coat and yanking him closer to yell in his face. “If Sam dies because of you, I will fucking kill you myself, you _asshole!_ ”

 

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

 

“Oh, like you _didn’t mean_ to beat me half to death?”

 

Castiel was relieved that he understood. “Yes, exactly. I’m sorry-”

 

Dean’s fist lashed out, cracking across Castiel’s unyielding jaw. “Ow, _damn_ it!” He shook out his fingers, reminding Castiel of all the other injuries he bore.

 

Needing to help in at least this small way, Castiel reached out a hand.

 

Dean recoiled. “Don’t touch me!”

 

“But I can heal you-”

 

“I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

 

“Dean, please, let me make this right-”

 

“You _can’t_ ,” Dean spat. “Don’t kid yourself; healing me won’t change squat. I don’t care about my busted face or broken arm, I care about Sam.”

 

“I know,” Cas said helplessly, “I just-”

 

“You left my brother to _die,_ Castiel.”

 

He flinched. Dean had used his full name, and the significance was not lost on him.

 

“I forgave you for helping Zachariah manipulate us into jump-starting the apocalypse. I forgave you for making a deal with Crowley. I forgave you for lying to me. I forgave you for endangering Lisa and Ben. I forgave you for playing God and murdering hundreds of people. I forgave you for releasing the Leviathan. Hell, I even forgave you for breaking the wall in Sam’s head. And you know, I probably could have forgiven you for beating the crap out of me. But _this_?”

 

Castiel backed away, ashamed by the depth of his betrayal. He had let Dean down so many times, but never this badly. In choosing to save Dean’s life instead of his brother’s, Castiel had done the unforgivable. He had abandoned Sam. For all they knew Sam could be dead right now, and it was all his fault.

 

“Get out,” Dean growled.

 

A coward would have fled. Castiel came close, spreading his wings in preparation for flight, but at the last moment he caught a glimpse through Dean’s mask of fury to the raw pain hidden beneath, and he realised that he couldn’t do it.

 

His wings wilted.

 

“No,” he said quietly.

 

“I said _get out!”_

 

“And I heard you. But I’m not leaving.”

 

“The hell you aren’t.” Dean stormed forward, shoving the angel with as much force as he could muster one-handed.

 

Castiel allowed himself to be pushed back a step, not wanting to hurt Dean any further, but he wouldn’t change his position on the matter. “I’m staying, Dean.”

 

“No, you’re not! I don’t want you here, you son of a bitch!”

 

“Nevertheless, here I will remain. I am going to help you find Sam, no matter what it takes.”

 

“I don’t want your help!”

 

“Maybe not,” Castiel conceded. “But you will need it. I acknowledge my responsibility for what has happened to your brother, and I promise you I will not rest until Sam is found.”

 

Dean’s hand balled into a fist. “I don’t care. I want you out of here right this freakin’ minute! I’m serious, Castiel.”

 

Castiel could see that. “So am I.”

 

With an inarticulate yell Dean launched himself at the angel, punching and kicking every inch of him he could reach.

 

Castiel stood firm under the onslaught, but pulled his Grace from his extremities into his core so his body would not be supernaturally strengthened or healed. Bruises blossomed across his skin, sending pain signals shooting along his nerves. It was no less than he deserved.

 

Dean continued to hit him with all the ferocity he would use in an all-out fight until his strength began to wane. Under the weight of his physical and emotional exhaustion, Dean’s blows began to falter and slow, becoming weaker and weaker.

 

His fist pounded futilely once, twice more, on Castiel’s chest, before his arm fell limply to his side. He slumped in defeat.

 

Castiel saw the moment when Dean’s knees gave way beneath him and caught him before he fell. Dean’s capacity for resistance had been drained. So when Castiel hesitantly, cautiously, drew Dean into his arms the man did not fight him, or offer even a single word of protest. He simply sank into Castiel’s embrace in weary surrender, letting the angel hold him up.

 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered.

 

After a few moments, Dean’s shoulders began to shake and he ducked his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck. The growing dampness of his collar in those moments would never be mentioned.

 

ooOOoo

 

When Dean first woke, warm and safe in his own bed, he thought it had all just been a horrible nightmare. His subconscious had come up with some doozies in the past – volatile combinations of monsters and blood and fire mixed in with memories of pain and loss and Hell and Sammy’s dead eyes – that had left him drenched in a cold sweat, fighting desperately to hold in his screams.

 

Cas going dark side and trying to beat him to death was definitely the stuff of nightmares. Dean could convince himself that it had just been an alarmingly vivid dream because Cas had only ever hurt him once, and that was to save his life.

 

But then Dean remembered the stand-off with Naomi and Crowley; the way each had offered a captive Winchester in exchange for the Angel tablet. He remembered Cas choosing to save him instead of Sam, and he knew it was real.

 

Sam was gone.

 

Crowley had him, and all Dean could think about was Hell and Alistair and the way Alfie had screamed and _screamed_ as Crowley drilled into his skull –

 

Dean barely made it to the bathroom before he vomited, his body violently expelling everything in his stomach and making a good effort to strip the lining of bile from his gut as well. He retched and heaved, worried for his brother and overwhelmed by guilt.

 

He had left Sam behind. The fact that he hadn’t meant to, hadn’t wanted to, never would have if he’d had any choice in the matter, was irrelevant. It was his job to protect Sammy and he had failed – _again._ Any harm that came to Sam would be all on him.

 

“That is not true,” said a low, gravelly voice from behind him. “I alone bear the blame.”

 

Dean stiffened. He was still angry with Castiel but, worse, he was painfully conscious of the weakness he had shown last night. Never mind that the angel had already seen him at the lowest and most vulnerable times of his life; Dean only let his guard down with the people he was closest to, and Castiel had lost that right when he abandoned Sam.

 

Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, turning to face the angel with a hard glare set on his features. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bathroom mirror and realised that Castiel must have healed him while he slept; the thought of Castiel going against his wishes like that only made him angrier. “What are you doing here?” he growled.

 

Castiel retreated half a step, looking uncertain. “I sensed your distress. I thought I could-”

 

“Convince me to hug it out again?” Dean said acerbically. “No, Castiel, last night was a mistake I have no intention of repeating. Just because you were able to take advantage of me when I was wrung out doesn’t mean I forgive you for what you did to my brother.”

 

“I know that, Dean.” Damn him for looking like a kicked puppy. “I can’t expect your forgiveness. But will you at least let me help you find Sam?”

 

Pride and lingering fury almost led to a repeat of yesterday’s demands for Castiel to leave. But loath as Dean was to admit it, the truth was that Crowley could have taken Sam anywhere and he would have a hard time tracking them down alone.  Castiel had caused this mess and Dean didn’t trust him, but the tactician in him knew that the angel’s mojo would come in handy. Whatever issues there were between them, Sam was more important.

 

“Fine,” Dean snapped. “But no more of this touchy-feely crap. We’ve got a job to do, and that’s all there is to it.”

 

“I understand,” Castiel said solemnly.

 

“Good.”

 

ooOOoo


	3. Chapter 3

Dean had spent an entire day on the phone, calling every contact he, his father or Bobby had in the hope that one of them might have heard something about Sam. It was depressing how many names he had to score off the list because they were missing or dead, but finding out squat about Sam had him ready to smash his cell phone against the wall.

 

“…okay, well, if you do hear anything-” he repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.

 

“ _I’ll let you know.”_

 

Dean repressed a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand roughly through his hair. “Thanks, Archie.”

 

He hung up and went hunting for the next name, only to realise that Archie had been the last. He had talked to hunters all across the country, and none of them had any information about his brother. At this stage he had no idea where to even begin looking. He had to hope Castiel had turned up something.

 

“I have,” Cas said, a flutter of wings announcing his arrival.

 

Dean leapt up, adrenaline flooding through him. “Where is he?”

 

Castiel held up a hand to slow him down. “I’m sorry, Dean, I do not know for certain. But I have identified seventeen different locations which are warded against angels and scrying magic. They are all heavily guarded by demons.”

 

“So you’re saying that Sam could be in any one of them, but we have no way of knowing which.”

 

“Yes.”

 

It wasn’t the illuminating lead Dean was hoping for, but it was a darn sight more than he’d had five minutes ago and at least the search had been narrowed down significantly. “Okay. We’ll hit each one until we find him.”

 

“That won’t be easy,” Castiel warned. “I can take out the demons around the perimeter, but once you are inside you will be on your own.”

 

“So I’ll take out the wards, like we did in Geneva.”

 

“It is not that simple. Crowley has adapted since we extracted Samandiriel; he cast the sigils in metal.”

 

Dean raised his eyebrows at that, surprised by the innovation, irritated that he had not thought of it first, and reluctantly impressed.

 

“Spray cans will be useless,” Castiel continued, “and we have neither the tools nor time to dismantle that many sigils in the midst of a pitched battle.”

 

He was right, and Dean knew full well how dangerous it was to enter a demon nest without back-up, but he didn’t see any other option. Sam and Castiel _were_ his back-up; everyone else was dead. Dad, Ellen, Jo, Bobby… they had all followed him into battle and wound up killed. But he’d be damned if he would let Sam join the list of the deceased.

 

He gave a nonchalant shrug, trying to appear unconcerned. “So I go in alone.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“I can handle it.”

 

“It’s a suicide mission. I can’t let you-”

 

“It’s _Sam,_ ” Dean growled.   


Castiel wisely ceased his objections, but his eyes spoke volumes about how worried he was for Dean’s safety and how sorry he was that it had come to this.

 

Dean ignored him. “I’m going to stock up on weapons. Be ready to go in five.”

 

“Where?”

 

Dean wished he could intuitively know which abandoned warehouse or run-down building Sam was being held in, but he couldn’t. They would have to choose randomly to begin with until they were able to gather more intel. “Pick one; it doesn’t matter.”

 

“But shouldn’t we come up with a plan?”

 

“We have a plan. You teleport us close and smite the crap out of the security guards, then I bust in there and kill every stinking demon I come across until I find Sam or find someone who will tell me where he is.”   


Dean strode away without waiting for a reply, heading for the armoury to stock up on salt, holy water, rock salt rounds and iron bullets. He loaded a shotgun and holstered it in his belt, stashed an iron dagger in his boot and slipped a spray can into his pocket just in case he got the chance to lay a few Devil’s Traps along the way. Lastly, he palmed Ruby’s knife, testing its familiar weight in his hand. Before this night was through, it would be sheathed in blood.

 

When he returned to the conference room Castiel was waiting for him.

 

“Do you have any of those demon ‘bombs’ the prophet made?” Castiel asked.

 

“No.” The ingredients were extremely rare and unfortunately they had used the last of their reserves. He had already asked Kevin to see about putting together some more, but it was going to take a while and Dean was not willing to wait. “We can make do without them.”

 

Obviously uncomfortable with moving so quickly, Castiel tried one more time. “Dean, are you sure-”

 

“Yes. Let’s go.”

 

Castiel gave him one last, searching look, as though trying to memorise his face or discern some deeper meaning in his expression. Then, reluctantly, he nodded, and stretched out a hand.

 

Dean had a momentary flash of Castiel’s fist bearing down on him and had to restrain a flinch as two fingers pressed against his forehead.

 

In an instant their surroundings changed. It was a classic warehouse district, characterised by looming buildings, graffiti-covered grey walls, broken and boarded up windows, discarded industrial waste, broken locks and numerous ‘No Trespassing’ signs. If Dean were not so focused on the task at hand he would have bemoaned the lack of originality.

 

The entire street was deserted save for a single building. The demons were disguised as homeless men huddled around a barrel fire or bedded down near the entrance, eight in total, but if Dean hadn’t been sure that this was the right place the steel Enochian symbols fixed to the walls were a dead giveaway.

 

“They are going to see us coming,” Castiel said in a low voice.

 

“They’ll see me,” Dean agreed. “That’s the idea.” He did a final check of his weapons and then flashed a grim smile. “See you on the other side.”

 

He started out small. Keeping to the shadows, he snuck around the fence line and took up a position behind a dumpster. He fished a battered tin can out of the trash and, taking careful aim, skidded it across the compound. The clatter of metal on concrete was unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night, and it caught their attention.

 

One of the demons gestured for another to check out the disturbance. Dean watched carefully as the man with the patched-up jeans and ragged overcoat approached his location. Presumably looking for a stray animal, he popped the lid of the dumpster and peered inside.

 

Dean reached out and snatched the back of his coat, yanking him into the darkness. He pinned him to the ground and covered his mouth with a hand. The man’s eyes widened, turned pitch black, and then froze in shock as Ruby’s knife was shoved deep into his gut. Dean twisted the blade with finality.

 

When he stood, there was a dead demon at his feet and his weapon was bloody. He wiped the knife on his jeans, and waited.

 

Sure enough, when Patch didn’t return another demon wandered over to find out where he’d gone. Dean disposed of him as efficiently as the first, but this time the man gave a sharp cry when Dean grabbed him, alerting the others.

 

The game was up, so Dean strode out into the open and called out, “Hey, any of you folks got the time?”

 

Six pairs of eyes turned black, and then the demons were running for him. Dean drew his handgun and knocked a couple back with iron bullets to their kneecaps.

 

_That’s your cue, Castiel._

 

As the wounded men collapsed, the angel appeared behind them. His hands closed over their heads and a bright light burst from their eyes. Four down.

 

The other demons were closing in, so Dean switched back to the knife and launched into the fray. He swiped the legs out from under one, delivered a powerful blow to the jaw of another, ducked from a fist, slashed an arm, dodged a blade, saw a flash of white to the left, was knocked to the ground but rolled and came up fighting, buried the knife in a chest. He spun to take down the next opponent, but Castiel got there first, flattening both remaining demons in quick succession.

 

“There are more coming,” Castiel said, looking toward the door as it burst open.

 

“You got them?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Dean skirted around the edge as the demons raced toward the bigger threat. He noted the angel sword one bore with a pang of concern but decided that Castiel could handle it and dashed through the entrance.

 

They came at him, one after the other. He lost count of the number of punches he threw or hits he took, losing himself in the primal instincts of a battle for survival. Once more, Dean became what he had been in Purgatory; more than a hunter or a fighter, he was violence and death personified. He was an economy of motion, the extension of his blade, single-minded in his purpose. He was blood.

 

Dean cut a swath through the enemy until he reached the final, barred door. With a well-aimed kick it crashed open.

 

The room beyond was empty.

 

" _No!_ ” Dean raged, slamming his fist into a wall. Pain spiked up his arm but it went ignored along with the host of other injuries Dean had received in the fight. All that mattered, all Dean cared about, was finding Sam and he _wasn't here_. Dean knew it was unrealistic to expect they would be successful on their first attempt, but that didn't make their failure any easier to bear.

 

He stalked out of the warehouse, heedless of the carnage he left in his wake.

 

Outside, the scene was not quite so bloody, though the body count was similarly high. Castiel was the last man standing.

 

"Sam's not here.”

 

Castiel nodded; that much had probably been obvious when Dean walked out alone. "I kept one of the demons alive for questioning." He gestured to the unconscious figure sprawled out at his feet.

 

"Good." Dean had forgotten that aspect of the plan, too caught up in the bloodlust of battle to go for the capture instead of the kill. "Hand him over."

 

Castiel hesitated, taking a half-step in front of the fallen demon as though to block him from Dean’s view. "I can get the information we need."

 

Fury was still pounding through his veins, unsated by the deaths of over a dozen demons. He needed this; to cut and slice and burn until his victim screamed. "No, I'll do it."

 

Castiel stared at him, _through_ him. "I do not believe that would be wise."

 

Dean bristled. "Are you saying you don't think I can handle it?"

 

Castiel did not allow himself to be drawn into a fight. He remained calm, gazing levelly at the irate hunter. "I am saying you shouldn't have to. I asked too much of you, once, and I vowed to never put you in that position again if I could help it."

 

Dean remembered the incident all too vividly. He had barely been topside for a few months before the angels had forced him to use the 'skills' he had learned in Hell to torture Alistair. The sadist in him had revelled in the chance to give back even the tiniest fraction of the pain Alistair had dealt out over those 30 years Dean had spent on the rack. But the tattered shreds of his humanity felt sickened by his actions, his _pleasure_ , whispering that he had become one of the very monsters he hunted. That day, Dean broke all over again.

 

And Castiel had grieved for him; Dean had seen it in his eyes.

 

Dean was on the borderline of losing it, closer even than he had been when Lisa and Ben were taken, and torturing this demon could push him over the edge. Dean didn't care – there was nothing, _nothing,_ he would not do for his brother – but he could tell that Castiel cared and a part of him was reluctantly grateful to the angel for trying to save him from himself.

 

"Fine," he said. "But make sure he talks."

 

"I will," Castiel promised. "Just wait here."

 

Dean stood outside the warehouse for an hour while screams echoed from within it. He simmered with impatience, worried for Sam and needing to find him now, _now_ , before it was too late. Hell had driven Sam mad and Castiel had fixed him but the King of Hell was holding him captive, endangering his tenuous recovery. Worse, Sam was already weakened by the trials to close Hell that he should never have taken on in the first place. If Dean did not find him soon, there might not be anything left of his brother to find.

 

When Castiel exited the building, tugging down his sleeves, Dean could tell from his expression that he did not have good news.

 

"He didn't know anything."

 

That was not what he wanted to hear. "Are you sure?"

 

"I'm sure, Dean. Crowley didn't even tell them why they were guarding the warehouse."

 

Crowley was no fool. He knew their methods and was using that knowledge against them. "Damn it," Dean muttered. "I guess we do this the hard way, then. Let's go."

 

"Back to the bunker?"

 

Dean looked at him like he had grown two heads. "No. The next warded building where they might be holding Sam. I'm not giving up."

 

"Of course not. But don't you think you should rest?"

 

"Not until I get my brother back."

 

"Dean..."

 

He glared, daring the angel to tell him he should waste time sleeping while Sam's life was at stake.

 

Castiel sighed. "I will take you – but only if you allow me to heal your wounds first."

 

Dean glanced down at his battered and bruised body, only now noticing the blood dripping from his hand and the sharp stab of broken ribs that accompanied every breath. "Oh."

 

"You should be more careful," Castiel chided. "You will be no help to Sam if you get yourself killed."

 

Dean knew he was right, and fighting injured was just asking for trouble. Even so, it took a conscious effort to hold still as the angel reached out to heal him. The sense memory of the brutal beating Castiel had inflicted was only a day old, and Dean's gut instinct was to flinch away from the hands that had almost killed him.

 

His discomfort must have shown on his face, because Castiel hesitated and said, very quietly, "I won't hurt you."

 

Dean gave a tight nod and squeezed his eyes shut, granting permission for the angel to do what he had to.

 

Castiel was exceedingly gentle, his fingertips barely brushing against Dean's forehead as the familiar warmth of his Grace spilled through the point of contact and flooded Dean's body. The pain vanished, Castiel withdrew his hand, and Dean opened his eyes to find that he was whole once more.

 

He should have thanked him, but instead he said, "Can we go now?"

 

Castiel's eyes were sad, but he nodded and whisked them away to the next location where the fight began anew.

 

ooOOoo


	4. Chapter 4

57 hours. 12 strongholds. 163 dead or exorcised demons. 46 injuries ranging from minor scrapes and bruises to broken bones, a severe concussion and a stab wound that almost bled out before Dean was able to make it back across the wards. 12 healing sessions requiring more Grace each time.

 

No Sam.

 

Dean continued to power on with all of his trademark tenacity, but exhaustion and despair were creeping in on him, slowing him down, dulling his reflexes. Castiel knew he would keep going, keep fighting, keep searching until he reached the limits of human endurance and he would not stop even then. But Dean was not invincible and Castiel feared that this crusade would kill him, whether because his body gave out under the strain or because a demon managed to break through his faltering defences to deliver a mortal blow. Either way, if Dean fell beyond the wards Castiel would not be able to reach him, would not be able to save him. Every time Dean entered another warehouse alone, Castiel worried he would not come back.

 

His worst fears were almost realised when Dean staggered out into view, his face ghostly pale and his clothes soaked with blood. He collapsed before he made it two steps towards Castiel – _Dead? No, Father, please not dead-_

 

With a blur of wings Castiel was by Dean’s side, flinging out his Grace in desperate haste to drag Dean’s soul back from the brink, flooding him with so much healing power that his body actually glowed pure white. The wounds vanished and his heartbeat returned, but the grey pallor of his skin did not improve. Too much blood loss. Too many miracle healings in such a short period of time. Too little energy to spare. His body couldn’t cope.

 

Castiel pressed his Grace in harder.

 

Dean gasped in a breath, green eyes flashing open. “Cas-”

 

Castiel had the sudden, overwhelming urge to wrap his arms tightly around the hunter and never let him go. He barely restrained himself.

 

“-close one,” Dean puffed. “Thought I was a goner that time for sure.”

 

Castiel felt a pang, deep in his chest. “Dean…”

 

“But I’m – ungh – good to go, now. C’mon, help me up.”

 

Although it went against his better judgement, Castiel obediently took Dean’s proffered hand and pulled him to his feet. The human swayed, forcing an alarmed Castiel to catch him before he could fall.

 

“I’m fine,” Dean protested, trying to pull away from the angel’s intractable grip.

 

“No, you’re not,” Castiel growled. “Enough, Dean. This ends here.”

 

“You don’t give me orders.”

 

“And I don’t obey yours when you are being stupid!” Castiel shot back, suddenly furious. “You are _killing_ yourself, Dean, and I will _not_ stand by and watch you do it!”

 

“Why not? You stood by when Crowley took my brother, didn’t you?”

 

“I didn’t have a choice!”

 

“You could have saved Sam!”

 

“ _I could not let you die!”_

Dean was shocked into silence. Wide green eyes stared at him, stunned, as though seeing him for the first time.

 

“I couldn’t,” Castiel repeated, and he hated how weak he sounded. But it was the truth. He had meant to save Sam, to grant what would have been Dean’s final wish, but when face with the immediacy of Dean’s death he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lose him. “I _can’t_ ,” he repeated. “So yell at me all you want, hit me if you must, but I am taking you back to the bunker whether you like it or not, because you _need to rest_.”

 

Dean’s mouth parted, but no words came forth. After a moment he blinked, blearily, and Castiel realised that without adrenaline pumping through his veins he was too fatigued to even nod his consent.

 

“Okay. That’s settled. We are leaving now.” He had expected more of a fight, but Dean was too far gone. Even as he spoke, Dean began to slump forward and Castiel slipped an arm around him. “We will do it this way, then,” Castiel murmured.

 

The angel spread his wings and launched into the sky, flying across the continent with the hunter cradled safely against his chest.

 

He banked smoothly as he passed over the border into Kansas and drew to a neat stop within the bunker.

 

“You’re home,” he said, but there was no reply. He looked down to see that Dean was fast asleep.

 

Quietly, Castiel flitted into Dean’s bedroom. He was gentle as he set his charge down, using a slight nudge of his Grace to shift the blankets over to one side. He untied Dean’s boots and tugged lightly to remove them, but decided any further efforts to make him more comfortable would only make Dean _un_ comfortable when he woke, so he let the clothes be. He pulled the blankets over Dean’s sleeping form, tucked the edges in carefully and smoothed out the creases. Absently, he brushed his thumb across Dean’s lips to remove the trace of blood from a healed wound, but his touch lingered longer than was necessary. Faint puffs of air brushed over his skin; reassurance that Dean was alive, still here, still breathing.

 

It was calming, the sight of Dean asleep in his own bed, safe and sound. The hunter’s life was in a constant state of turmoil, filled with movement and stress and violence, and it was rare to catch a glimpse of Dean at peace. But in those precious moments after sleep claimed him, before his subconscious inevitably pulled him into the land of dreams and nightmares, Dean was free. The worries and cares faded from his face, leaving him looking years younger, and lighter somehow. Unburdened. His breathing was slow and even, his eyelashes a dark smudge against his cheeks.

 

He was beautiful.

 

Castiel knew that Dean would object to the description, but nothing in all of God’s creation could compare to the beauty of this perfectly flawed man. Castiel would gaze into those emerald green eyes for hours if Dean would let him. He would be entranced by the fluidity of his movements when he fought if he was not so busy trying to keep him alive. He would melt at Dean’s charming smile if it were ever directed at him instead of a woman. He would count the freckles sprayed across his nose over and over again if he had not been told that staring was socially unacceptable. And he would kiss Dean with all the passion of the Pizza Man if he was not so afraid that Dean would push him away.

 

Dean did not feel the same way he did. Dean didn’t even _like_ him right now. He was angry with Castiel for abandoning Sam, and the angel had just forced him to do the same, even if it was only for one night. With all the mistakes Castiel had made – too numerous to count, but each one hurting Dean more than the last – Dean had every right to hate him.

 

The only way to earn Dean’s forgiveness was to bring Sam back to him.

 

Castiel was going to do whatever it took.

 

ooOOoo

 

Dean was not usually one for sleeping in. As a small child, the excitement of beginning a new day had seen him bouncing out of bed in the early hours of the morning, much to his parents’ chagrin. After John began hunting, Dean was expected to wake early to go through a training and exercise routine before making breakfast and getting Sammy ready for school. As a teenager, Dean had found that the morning was the only time he had to scrape together his homework assignments, because the afternoons and evenings were filled with driving Sammy around to friend’s houses, cooking dinner, hustling pool, doing research and hunting with Dad. By the time he reached adulthood, sleep had dropped so low on his list of priorities that he only squeezed it into his schedule when it was absolutely necessary.

 

But now, as he drifted closer to consciousness, he found himself reluctant to emerge from the haze of warmth and peace suffusing his mind to the cold reality of the waking world. For the first time in a long time, he felt comfortable and well-rested. He didn’t want to lose that feeling.

 

By the time he finally convinced himself to open his eyes and glanced at his watch, he discovered that he had been asleep for 15 hours straight.

 

Save for a few dosed-up hospital stays, Dean could not recall ever having slept for so long. It felt incredible. But, for some reason, it made him feel intensely guilty as well.

 

Then he remembered. Sam.

 

Dean scrambled out of bed so fast he nearly passed out from the sudden vertigo. He yanked on his boots, not sure when he had taken them off, or how he had even made it back to the bunker-

 

Castiel.

 

Dean swore under his breath, doing up his laces quickly before storming from the bedroom.

 

“Castiel? Castiel! Get your feathery ass down here right now!”

 

Only silence greeted him.

 

Dean drew in a breath, fully prepared to launch into a long, abusive prayer-rant when he caught a whiff of warm pastry coming from the kitchen. He went to investigate and found, to his utter disbelief and amazement, an apple pie sitting on the bench. Not just any, corner store bought, run-of-the-mill pie, but a real pie, like the ones made by hand in a little Alaskan bakery called Slice of Heaven… Dean’s jaw almost dropped when he caught sight of the little ‘Slice of Heaven’ logo imprinted on the crust.

 

“What the hell…?”

 

When he could pull his eyes away from the pie, he noted the sheet of paper set next to it.

 

 _You were right,_ it read. _Nanna McPherson is a lovely old woman. She remembers you; when I told her who the pie was for she baked it specially, with extra pastry and cinnamon the way you like it. She wanted me to pass on her congratulations – for what, I am unsure. But she was very friendly. After all the effort she put into making this pie, I think you should make sure you eat all of it. You have not eaten for 4 days. My Grace should be keeping it fresh and warm for you._

_Before you decide that searching for your brother takes priority over food consumption, rest assured that the efforts to recover Sam continue unabated. I have come up with a new strategy._

_Eat. I will return when I can._

_Cas._

Dean had to re-read the note a few times before it really sunk in. He remembered how, a few years ago, Castiel had accompanied the brothers to a diner that just so happened to have the worst tasting pie Dean had ever had the misfortune of putting in his mouth. For at least ten minutes, Dean had ignored the case they were supposed to be working in favour of ranting loudly about how pies were sacred and no one but expert bakers like Nanna McPherson should be allowed to make them for the sake of taste-buds everywhere. He was stunned that Castiel had not only recalled the name, but actually sought out the woman’s bakery and purchased a pie from her to bring back for Dean, all to ensure that Dean actually ate something.

 

His anger faded, just a little. Castiel shouldn’t have let him sleep so long, and he shouldn’t have left him behind, especially without explaining what his ‘new strategy’ for finding Sam was. But Dean did feel much better for having rested properly for the first time in a long time, and he _was_ hungry.

 

Cas had bought him pie.

 

Against his will, a small smile curved his lips.

 

In the end, Dean ate all but one thin slice of the best pie America had to offer, savouring every morsel. He was tempted to eat the last sliver, too, but he didn’t think it was fair that the angel had brought the pie all this way without trying any himself, so he covered it carefully in Saran Wrap and placed it in the fridge for Castiel to eat later.

 

Without hunger, pain and exhaustion clouding his mind, Dean found he was able to think much more clearly about the matter at hand. They had been operating under the assumption that Sam would be locked away in one location, and that by raiding each warded building they would eventually find him. But once they cleared out a warehouse and moved on, there was nothing stopping Crowley from sending more demons back there, or making more buildings just like it. The truth was, a demon of his power and station could vanish with Sam at the first hint of trouble, fleeing to any one of the defended buildings just as Dean and Castiel got close. If they continued the way they were going, Crowley would always be one step ahead of them.

 

Castiel was right; they needed a new strategy. But they had nothing to hold over Crowley’s head, nothing to threaten him with, nothing he wanted…

 

Oh.

 

ooOOoo


	5. Chapter 5

Entering the pristine office again, after everything that had been done to him in this room, made Castiel’s skin crawl. Given a choice, he would never have returned here. For all that he knew it was necessary, he feared that coming back would be a fatal mistake. But at the very least, he was determined that this time he would retain control over his mind and actions.

 

“Naomi,” he called.

 

His heartbeat thrummed with a steady pulse of _Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean,_ keeping him grounded. His mind was his own, and it would remain that way. _Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean._

A flutter of wings announced Naomi’s arrival. Castiel tensed at the sight of the angel who had brainwashed and manipulated him, but stood his ground. _Dean._

The woman folded her arms, frowning at him. “What are you doing here, Castiel?”

 

 _Dean._ “I have come for the tablet.”

 

As far as Castiel could see, this was the one of the very few options open to him. Crowley had Sam Winchester, a valuable commodity in the realm of the supernatural, but he had already illustrated that he wanted the Angel tablet more. The former Crossroads demon was still fond of making deals; it was possible he would be willing to trade. Without Dean’s life hanging in the balance, Castiel found the choice far easier to make.

 

“Then you have wasted a trip,” Naomi said. “Do you really think I would just hand it over at your request?”

 

Of course he did not believe it would be that easy. That is why he had brought his Angel sword. “I was not asking. You will give me the tablet, or I will take it by force.”

 

Rather than appearing intimidated by the threat, Naomi chuckled. “Do not be foolish. You would not survive the attempt.”

 

He had known that was a possibility from the offset. He was not deterred. “Then I will die trying.”

 

The humour faded from her expression. “The humans have polluted you, Castiel. You were once the pride of Heaven, young and full of promise, loyal to your family and dedicated to the cause. You were chosen from among thousands of angels to be the one to guide the Righteous Man from the depths of Hell to the glory of his destiny. How did you go from a position of such honour and responsibility to- to _this?_ You are a _traitor_ , following in Lucifer’s footsteps, and for what?”

 

 _Dean_. “I could not expect you to understand. You have dwelled in Heaven too long to comprehend matters of the heart.”

 

She raised her eyebrows. “Castiel, you do not _have_ a heart. Nor do you have a soul. You are an angel, not a human.”

 

“Just because our emotions have been discouraged and repressed for millennia does not mean we are incapable of feeling, Naomi. My time on Earth has taught me-”

 

“No, Castiel, it has corrupted you. Come back to us, allow me to remove this taint, and you could become one of us again. Do you not remember how it was before all of this pain and doubt and uncertainty? The peace you had before you experienced these tumultuous emotions? There was no fear, or anger, or sadness, or guilt, or loneliness. You were happy.”

 

“I was _not_ happy, I was hollow. Empty. It was a meaningless existence, and I will not give up what I have now for a life not even worth living.”

 

“What do you have, Castiel? You have no home, no family, no purpose.”

 

“You are wrong on all three counts.” Castiel couldn’t help it; he smiled a little. “I have Dean.”

 

Naomi stared at him. Then she slowly shook her head. “Oh you poor, foolish child. You think you are in love.”

 

“I did not come here to be judged or patronised, Naomi. I came for the tablet.”

 

“If you give the tablet to Crowley, he will destroy your brethren. He will destroy _you_. The balance of the universe will be decimated. Evil will run rampant across the Earth, and your precious little hunter will be one of the first to die.”

 

“The tablet, Naomi.”

 

“I will not allow you to bring upon the destruction of Heaven simply because you have _feelings_ for some worthless human.”

 

“I will not ask again.”

 

“Good, because the answer is no.”

 

With a flick of his wrist, Castiel’s blade dropped into his hand. He launched forward.

 

Naomi snapped her fingers and Castiel staggered as the office vanished to be replaced by a wide, open field. An instant later, an entire garrison of angels appeared, every one of them armed to the teeth.

 

Castiel was surrounded.

 

With more bravado than he felt, he called out, “Surrender the tablet to me and your lives will be spared!”

 

They ignored him. Gradually, gradually, they closed in, until there could be no escape.

 

Castiel wiped his palms on his trench coat, swallowed, and gripped his angel sword tightly.

 

_Dean._

 

ooOOoo

 

Dean tried to keep busy.

 

He wasn’t _worried_ about Castiel, as such, because when he had his mojo the angel could certainly take care of himself, but Dean didn’t like not knowing where he was or what he was doing – or whether he was alright.

 

Bugging Castiel to check in would seem kind of needy and Dean didn’t want to distract him at the wrong moment, but sitting around the bunker doing nothing was going to drive him mad. Without his personal teleporter, he couldn’t hop between the warded warehouses to continue the search for Sam, and going in without back up or Castiel’s convenient healing powers would be suicide anyway. Even so, he needed to do _something._

 

So in a reluctant compromise, Dean drove to Garth’s houseboat to check up on Kevin. Bobby’s degree that ‘family don’t end with blood’ meant that Kevin had become almost like a much younger brother to the Winchesters, which made Dean almost as responsible for him as he was for Sam. Dean was supposed to look out for him, but so far he had been far too negligent in the role. Even coming here, now, was only partially motivated by the desire to make sure Kevin was doing okay; Dean was still thinking about Sam, about finding a way to save him, and he was very deliberately _not_ thinking about Castiel.

 

The prophet did not look any better than the last time that Dean had seen him. His clothes were days old, he had the scruff of an unshaved beard, he had dark bags under his bloodshot eyes and, if the empty aspirin bottles strewn around were anything to go by, he was still suffering from headaches and nosebleeds.

 

If Dean had looked half as terrible yesterday as Kevin did now, he could understand why Castiel had forced him to stop and rest. He was tempted to hold a similar intervention for Kevin; the kid was running himself into the ground and Dean felt bad knowing that he was doing it at their request. He shouldn’t even think of asking more of him.

 

Unfortunately, translating the Demon tablet was an important job that only Kevin could do, and Dean felt that they needed the information now more than ever. If whatever Castiel was planning didn’t work, Dean had to hope that there would be something in the tablet that they could use against Crowley.

 

“Have you found anything?” he asked.

 

Kevin did not look up from his piles of notes. “I nearly have the second trial figured out.”

 

The trials. Dean knew that closing the gates of Hell was a worthy cause, but he hated what the trials were doing to his brother. It was supposed to have been his burden. Sam had already sacrificed enough the last time he had saved the world.

 

“That’s great, Kevin,” Dean said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “But Sam is missing at the moment… He can’t really do the next trial until we get him back.” If they got him back. If he was okay. “Have you got anything that could help us find him?”

 

Kevin sighed. “This isn’t like a Google search engine, you know. I only have half the tablet, and every section has to be translated individually. I can’t just type in ‘How to find Sam Winchester’.”

 

Dean bit back his frustration. “I know that. But could you, I dunno, look for keyword symbols or something?”

 

“I guess,” Kevin exhaled. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and peered back down at the tablet.

 

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

 

Kevin mumbled an unintelligible response, already absorbed in his work.

 

Dean spent all of two minutes watching him before he realised he was just as likely to go stir crazy here as he had been back at the bunker. If it was Sammy researching, he would not have hesitated to annoy the hell out of him for the sake of entertainment, but if Kevin’s translation could find a way to rescue Sam he did not want to jeopardise that.

 

So he curbed his more irritating behaviours and set about cleaning the houseboat – without disturbing any of Kevin’s notes, of course. He then checked the protective sigils and took Kevin’s pile of dirty laundry out to the Laundromat so the kid would have some clean clothes to wear. Remembering how welcome the freshly baked apple pie had been that morning, and how Kevin seemed to live off hotdogs when he was on his own, Dean picked up some groceries for him as well. The strange surge of domesticity continued when he returned; he cooked enough meals to last Kevin for at least a few weeks and stashed most of them in the freezer. Unfortunately, there was no oven in the houseboat’s miniature kitchenette so Dean couldn’t try out the apple pie recipe that Bobby’s wife had given him. He settled for making up a couple of fresh tacos and forcing Kevin to actually stop for a minute while he ate them.

 

Kevin seemed grateful for the food, but Dean was getting the distinct impression that the prophet felt uncomfortable having someone else in his space. When the kid started wincing at every slight movement he made and eventually began popping pills, Dean realised he had outstayed his welcome. So, with a parting request for Kevin to keep him updated, he took his leave of the houseboat and made the drive back to the bunker.

 

It might have been a mistake. Because when he wasn’t busy, when he had nothing to distract him, when his mind was not occupied with other things, he had time to process the events of the past few days. He had time to think, and that was the last thing he wanted to do _._ He was barely hanging on by a thread as it was.

 

The silence in the car was eerie. Dean reached forward to turn on some loud music, very deliberately not glancing toward the vacant passenger seat.

 

The silence of the bunker was worse. The vast headquarters of the Men of Letters had never seemed intimidating before; despite being a life-long drifter, Dean had found it remarkably easy to adopt this haven as his first real home, settling in as though he had lived there forever. But, as sappy as the sentiment was, Dean realised now that there was some truth to the phrase ‘Home is where the heart is’. Without Sam, this building was nothing but four empty walls, meaningless and cold. It was never the place that mattered, after all.

 

God, he missed Sam.

 

He stood at the top of the stairs, staring down into what suddenly seemed like the maw of some beast waiting to swallow him whole. Somehow, the sanctuary had transformed into the physical manifestation of the one thing he feared most.

 

He didn’t want to be here. Not without his brother. Not- not alone.

 

Because Dean Winchester could face off against ghosts and shape-shifters and werewolves and demons without batting an eyelid, but he was terrified of being alone.

 

He had spent his entire life watching the people he cared about walk away from him, one by one. Mom, Dad, Father Jim, Caleb, Ash, Ellen, Jo, Bobby… they were all dead. Lisa and Ben were gone. And Dean was waiting, always waiting, for the day when would Sam leave him too, once and for all. Maybe it hadn’t been Stanford. Maybe it hadn’t been Jake stabbing him. Maybe it hadn’t been Ruby stealing him away. Maybe it hadn’t been Lucifer or the Pit. Maybe it hadn’t been the asylum. Maybe it hadn’t been any of those numerous close calls with death over the years. But even though Sammy had come back to him every time, Dean couldn’t ever feel certain that his brother was there to stay.

 

And he couldn’t help thinking that maybe _this_ was it. Maybe that half-glimpse of Sam’s limp form, lying helpless at Crowley’s feet, had been the last Dean would ever see of his brother. Maybe they would never find him. Maybe he was dead already.

 

Maybe Dean really was all alone.

 

Abruptly, his knees buckled beneath him. He staggered into the railing and found that he was up high, high enough to just accidentally stumble over the edge and fall and feel _nothing_ …

 

“Cas,” he gasped out, clutching at the too-thin barrier between him and oblivion with a white-knuckled grip. “Cas, help.” He didn’t know what he would do if the angel didn’t answer. All he knew was that, for all the times Castiel had disappeared on him, when Dean had screamed at him to leave he _hadn’t._ It wasn’t much, it was hardly a secure foundation on which to build his hopes and his sanity, but for now it was all he had. “I-I’m freaking out. Please, Cas, I need you.”

 

For a heart-stopping moment, there was nothing.

 

Then, the flutter of wings – and an earth-shuddering _CRASH._

 

The table below and the floor it stood upon were obliterated as a figure in a tan trench coat slammed through both.

 

“Cas!”

 

Dean sprinted down the stairs and scrambled into the crater created by the uncontrolled landing. He shoved aside broken tiles and splintered pieces of furniture, waded through dust and debris, and nearly tripped right over the angel.

 

“Cas! Are you- oh my god.”

 

Castiel was covered in blood.

 

“That’s not your blood. It _isn’t_ , you hear me? You’re fine. Cas? Tell me you’re fine!”

 

He patted the angel’s cheek to wake him, but his head just lolled limply to the side.

 

“Cas!”

 

The ground lurched beneath them. Dean looked down to see that they were balanced precariously on compromised support beams; warped pieces of metal that groaned and creaked until their weight, shifting dangerously, on the verge of collapsing altogether. Debris was dropping through the gaps to the floor below, and Dean realised they would be the next to fall if they didn’t make it back to solid ground soon.

 

“Cas, help me out here, buddy.” He received no response but he wasn’t expecting one. He braced his feet against the most secure surfaces he could find and bent down to hoist the angel up and over his shoulder. He grunted – Cas was no lightweight – but managed the manoeuvre without losing his balance or his cargo.

 

He could feel something wet and sticky soaking through his shirt.

 

With his first step, the ground rumbled. As he lifted his other foot, the beam it had rested on ripped free of the tangled wreckage and clattered to the floor. The next beam sunk a few inches, but held. The one after that almost dropped right out from under him, forcing Dean to make a desperate hop, skip and leap across untested ground. His leg plunged through a gap in the woodwork, forcing him to throw out a hand to catch himself. He sliced his palm open on a jagged edge of metal but gripped stubbornly tighter as blood ran down his arm until he could pull his leg out, then half-stumbled, half-ran over the remaining distance. The entire structure crumbled just as he launched from the last beam onto a section of undamaged floor space.

 

Dean hugged close to the wall and didn’t dare move a muscle until the last sound of collapsing masonry faded away. He glanced behind him at the gaping hole in the middle of the room, then slowly edged his way out into the adjoining library. Only then did he feel safe enough to lie Castiel down and take a better look at him.

 

Dean sucked in a breath.

 

There was so much blood.

 

He didn’t check for breathing or a pulse; those were signs of life for a human, but the danger for Cas was his Grace draining out through a physical breach in his vessel. Right now, there were too many of those to count.

 

Dean’s hands moved automatically, years of on-the-job training guiding his motions as he stripped away the layers of clothing to reveal the wounds beneath. He kept his mind deliberately blank, refusing to think about how if Cas was human he would be dead already, and focused on controlling the bleeding. Acting as a one-man medical team, Dean used his knees and shins to apply pressure to the worst injuries and kept his hands free to shred bandages. Every article of clothing within easy reach, including the shirt off Dean’s own back but excluding the trench coat, was converted into long strips of cloth which Dean used to bind up Castiel’s torso. He patched up every nick and gash on his limbs as well, trying to keep the blood – the Grace – in, not knowing if his actions would be sufficient or if they would even help at all.

 

Save for the times he had exploded, Dean had never seen Castiel wounded this badly.

 

There was barely an inch of skin left unscathed, and Dean knew of only one type of weapon that could inflict those sort of injuries on an angel. From the number and severity of the wounds, Cas had to have been set upon by an entire garrison of angels. And Dean could think of only one reason why.

 

“Damn it, Cas, if you did this for me I am so gonna kick your ass.”

 

Cas didn’t respond. His face was pale, his skin cold. He looked… he looked dead.

 

“Don’t you dare die on me, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled. “Not again. You made me a promise that you would stay, so _stay._ Don’t be like the rest of them. Don’t leave me like they did. Come _on,_ Cas. Come back to me. Don’t die.”

 

But the angel wasn’t hearing him.

 

Dean had never been religious, and he didn’t know much about prayer, but he brought his hands together to press over the bandages on Castiel’s chest, bowed over him until their foreheads were pressed together, and closed his eyes. _Please don’t die._

 

ooOOoo


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Castiel became aware of was the sensation of pain.

 

By all rights, he should have been dead. He only remembered brief snippets of the battle, but he knew that he had managed to fend off at least half a dozen angels before the first blow had found its mark, scathing across his ribs. From that point, it had been a blur of sword flashes, blood spatters and streaks of fire slashing across his flesh. He must have fought for hours, maybe even days, and he had given it all he had. But the wounds had weakened him. He had felt himself slowing, known he couldn’t hold out much longer, and realised that he had finally pushed Heaven too far. They wouldn’t be content to strip him of his powers, cast him out of his home, and sentence him to Earth-bound imprisonment. No; this time, they were going to kill him.

 

For a moment, he thought death might be welcome. All he had done lately was screw up and hurt people. Purgatory was supposed to be his penance, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. There was no way he could make up for all of his mistakes. He deserved to die, and he was willing to surrender to his fate.

 

But then he recalled the agony on Dean’s face when he had pushed his hand away, forcing him to leave through the portal without him. Castiel hadn’t realised it at the time, but the forced separation had been as much as a punishment for Dean as it had been for him. It had never been his intention to hurt Dean in that manner, to put that look in his eyes.

 

To let himself be killed now would be yet another betrayal. Dean didn’t know where he had gone, why he had left. If he did not return, Dean would never know what had happened to him. He would be left alone.

 

Maybe Castiel deserved to die, but Dean didn’t deserve to suffer the loss of someone he cared about. If Castiel could still claim that honour.

 

Even so, Castiel was up against an entire garrison. The will to survive burned within him, but he just didn’t have the strength he needed to win this battle.

 

Then he heard Dean’s voice.

 

_Cas._

He sounded lost, vulnerable, like he was on the verge of breaking.

 

_Cas, please. I-I’m freaking out. Please, Cas, I need you._

 

Castiel had never been able to resist Dean’s call. He didn’t even have to make the decision consciously; in an instant, he vanished from Heaven’s battlefield to make for the bunker. But although his damaged wings flared wide, his Grace was fluctuating wildly and he had no control over his decent. He burned through the atmosphere, a comet falling from the sky, and it took the last ounce of energy within him to slow his momentum even a fraction.

 

He didn’t know when he lost consciousness, but he thought he might have caught a glimpse of the bunker before everything went black.

 

Castiel had assumed that was the end of it. The humans were fond of saying ‘You only live once’ and Castiel had already far exceeded that quota.

 

But he could feel each and every one of his injuries, and never had the discomfort of pain been more welcome. He was _alive._

 

And pain was not the only sensation he could feel.

 

There was a warm pressure on his chest. The gentle brush of air across his lips. The light touch of someone’s forehead resting against his own.

 

Castiel’s eyes flickered open.

 

“Dean,” he breathed.

 

He was rewarded with a flash of stunning green – the most beautiful shade of colour in all of creation – before Dean reeled back in shock.

 

“Cas!”

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

The hunter had a twisted expression on his face, as though he was torn between laughing and crying and punching him and kissing him senseless (although maybe that last one was wishful thinking on Castiel’s part).

 

“Cas-” Dean said again, the word strangled in his throat. “You’re – I thought you were-”

 

“I am fine,” Castiel assured him.

 

“No, no you’re not. I’m covered in your blood, Cas. _You’re_ covered in your blood.” Dean’s hands were shaking.

 

Castiel drew in a breath and felt agony ripple across his shredded flesh. Instinctively, he reached for his Grace to heal himself but found only the faintest trace of his power remaining.

 

Perhaps his surety in his survival had been premature.

 

The groan escaped his lips against his will, and his back arched slightly off the floor. “O-ohh…”

 

“Cas? Cas!”

 

He rode out the wave of pain and then scrabbled for solid ground, needing to focus on the distraught man leaning over him. “I am… sorry, Dean. I tried- I tried to get the Angel tablet. To save Sam. But I was… unsuccessful. I am sorry for… failing you, again…”

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Dean said gruffly. “I didn’t expect you to pull a stunt like that out of your ass. What the hell were you thinking, anyway? That Naomi bitch has half of Heaven’s army at her disposal, and she _brainwashed_ you. You could have been killed, or worse.”

 

“I think,” Castiel wheezed, “I have been killed. My body just has not… figured it out yet.”

 

“Don’t talk like that.” Distress was written across his features, even as he tried to hide it. “You said you’re fine, remember?”

 

“I lied,” Cas exhaled, and Dean visibly flinched. “I am sorry, Dean. I do not wish to leave you like this. Please… please do not be angry with me. It was not my intention to cause you… any more pain than I already have.”

 

“Then don’t die.”

 

If his Grace had not been all but drained, if he were not cut off from the power of Heaven, he might have been able to recover from these wounds. “I am afraid I do not have a choice.”

 

“ _No_ , damn it. Not you. I can’t lose you, Cas…”

 

“Dean…” There was so much he wanted to say, but there was no time. He had to hope Dean knew already.

 

“Don’t give me that look. Don’t say goodbye. You are _not_ dying on me, Cas, I won’t let you!”

 

“There is nothing… you can do.”

 

Fury and grief warred in his eyes, on the verge of spilling over into tears. “Cas, I-” But abruptly, everything changed. Realisation dawned, followed swiftly by hope and fierce determination. “There _is_ something I can do! Bobby said that when you needed more juice to get us back from 1861 you touched his soul, right?”

 

“Yes, but-”

 

“But nothing. I have a soul right here, only one owner, bit worn around the edges but still burning bright. Take as much energy as you need.”

 

The thought of risking Dean’s life like that temporarily pulled Castiel from the haze of the encroaching veil. “Dean, I couldn’t do that to you. When I touched Bobby’s soul, I had only one injury and I had more control over my actions. In my current state, I could destroy you.”

 

Dean glared, folding his arms. “Don’t argue with me, Cas. If it is a choice between saving your life and watching you die, then there is no choice. Do it!”

 

“No, Dean.”

 

“Damn it, Cas, how many times to I have to tell you! _I need you,_ you dumbass! I nearly took a swan dive today before you turned up, because I can’t freakin’ do this anymore! I miss Sam like half of me has been torn away, but I need you like I need oxygen and it is _killing_ me! Don’t you dare try to leave me here alone when there is another way. _Let me save you._ ”

 

Castiel would have argued further, but green eyes had him pinned. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Dean, and he was terrified of killing him accidentally in an attempt to siphon energy from his soul. But dying in Dean’s arms would probably have the same effect, because without Castiel there Dean would kill himself in the crusade to rescue his brother. There was a chance they could both live through this, and Castiel realised he had to take that chance.

 

“It will hurt,” he warned.

 

“I know.”

 

“Stay very still.”

 

Dean nodded tightly, bracing himself.

 

It would be easier with Dean than it had been with Bobby, at least. The angel and his hunter shared a profound bond, embodied in the handprint branded on Dean’s arm.

 

Castiel stretched out a hand and laid it carefully over the raised scar.

 

Breath hissed though Dean’s teeth.

 

Castiel hesitated. “Are you sure-?”

 

“Just do it.”

 

Obediently, Castiel closed his eyes and reached out with what little Grace he had left.

 

The soul of the Righteous Man was wondrous to behold. For this lowly angel, seeing it in all of its radiant splendour was a greater honour than he could have ever received. To touch it, though, and not just once for the purpose of raising him from perdition but a second time as well, was a gift beyond measure.

 

He was gentle, so gentle, as his senses brushed against Dean’s soul. The pulsing orb of light did not recoil from the invasion, but welcomed him as an old friend, and allowed him to draw on its strength.

 

Externally, both Dean and Castiel began to glow.

 

Flesh knitted together, wounds healed over, blood was replenished, scars faded away. The pain receded, leaving Cas whole and renewed.

 

Only then did he become aware of the screams that echoed around the bunker.

 

He cut the connection immediately, lurching upright in time to catch Dean as he collapsed.

 

“Dean! Are you okay?”

 

In a strange reversal of roles, green eyes flickered open to gaze up into Castiel’s concerned face. “Are… you?”

 

“Yes,” he answered, truthfully this time.

 

A smile fluttered across Dean’s lips. “Then so am I.”

 

ooOOoo


	7. Chapter 7

Both Dean and Castiel had been through the wringer over the past week, physically and emotionally. Sam was not getting any more found and Dean still felt the urgency of the situation, but there was no denying that they needed some down time.

 

They gave themselves a day.

 

It was a unique experience, spending time together without actively working a case or having some sort of argument. Granted, they spent most of the time sleeping to regain their strength but, in between having showers to wash away the blood and grime and scrounging for some grub, there was a lull when they just sat together in companionable silence.

 

It was nice, for a moment, to just be still. Dean’s life, for as long as he could remember, had been a continuous cycle of moving, travelling, working, hunting and fighting. It was rare to have to chance to simply be.

 

But then, sitting quietly had never really been Dean’s thing. That was more the angel’s forte. Besides, even though the silence was not as awkward or uncomfortable as it could have been, there were still a few issues hanging over their heads that could not be ignored forever.

 

“I’m not angry, you know,” Dean opened. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dean realised that Sammy had been a bad influence on him. Sam, with his soulful looks and determination to _talk_ about everything, was always the one to drag all the conflict and emotional mess that defined their lives out into the open. Dean usually fought tooth and nail against his brother’s chick-flick intentions until he couldn’t stand the puppy dog eyes any longer. He didn’t do this stuff willingly. So had he really just started this conversation?

 

Sam would probably be proud.

 

Castiel looked over at him, held tilted slightly, eyes questioning.

 

“I mean, I _was_ angry,” Dean pressed on. “About… well… a lot of stuff, I guess.”

 

Cas glanced down at his hands. “You have every right to be. After everything I’ve done…”

 

Dean was beginning to realise just how much he had in common with the angel. These days, there always seemed to be something eating at Castiel, too. He shouldered the blame for stuff that happened, bearing an ever-increasing burden of guilt without ever offering himself absolution.

 

“There’s a lot of crap in our past,” Dean acknowledged. “But it isn’t all on you. Sure, you’ve made some mistakes, but you’ve tried your damnedest to fix them. You sent those souls back to Purgatory, you took Sam’s madness into yourself, you helped us gank Dick, you broke the hold Naomi had on you…”

 

“But I haven’t found Sam.”

 

“You nearly got yourself killed yesterday trying to save him, Cas. That’s gotta count for something.”

 

“But I failed. Crowley still has your brother, and without the Angel tablet I don’t know how to get him back.”

 

Dean was out of ideas as well, but it was easier to hold on to hope when he had to keep up morale for someone other than himself. “It’s okay, Cas. We’ll think of something.”

 

“It is not ‘okay’. I did this, Dean. I left Sam behind. Any harm that comes to him is my fault.”

 

“Look, Cas…” Dean ran his fingers through his hair, wondering how to say this, and whether he wanted to say it at all. “I’m Sammy’s big brother,” he began. “It is my job to take out anyone and anything that threatens or hurts him, even indirectly.”

 

Dean remembered one notable occasion when he had even laid out their own father because Sam had been badly injured on a hunt. It hadn’t mattered that there was no way John could have known they were hunting a pair of monsters and not just one; Sam’s life had been endangered and that was unacceptable. For all that Dean had loved and respected his Dad, protecting Sam came first.

 

“So yeah, when you let Crowley take my brother I was pissed.” More than pissed. If it had been anyone else, he would have ripped their lungs out. “But… I know why you did it.” He took in a breath, gathering his resolve. “You did it because you-” He choked on the words, tried again. “Because we-” Okay, maybe he wasn’t ready for this. “I get that it wasn’t about leaving Sam, for you. It was about saving me. That’s what you do. I protect Sammy because I love him, and you protect me because-”

 

“Yes.”

 

The look in Castiel’s eyes was intense, burning with sincerity, filled with everything that they were leaving unspoken, and Dean couldn’t breathe.

 

The moment stretched into eternity.

 

“S-so I’m not angry,” Dean stuttered. “You saved my life. Again. And I- I guess I should thank you.”

 

“You are forgiving me,” Cas said. He looked stunned, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “But I haven’t earned it yet. I haven’t rescued your brother.”

 

“Forgiveness isn’t something you earn. It is something that is given.”

 

“Then I should be the one thanking you.”

 

Dean smiled a little. “Call it even?”

 

“Okay.” Cas was giving him that look again. After all this time, Dean was finally beginning to understand what it meant.

 

“Good.” Dean clapped his hands together and stood to his feet, formally ending the conversation before it had the chance to mutate into something sappier than his masculinity could handle. “Come and help me in the kitchen; it’s nearly time for dinner.”

 

Castiel hesitated. “I have no culinary experience.”

 

Dean was more than willing to take that as a challenge. “Not for long. Don’t worry, I’m a great teacher.”

 

“Yes, you are.”

 

Dean flushed. “Come on. There’s a slice of pie in it for you afterwards. I saved you a piece.”

 

“You did? But… it’s pie. You don’t share pie, not even with Sam.”

 

Dean shrugged. “I made an exception.”

 

If Cas did not stop looking at him like that Dean was going to have trouble concentrating on food. He turned away quickly and escaped towards the kitchen. But he smiled when Cas followed.

 

ooOOoo

 

The next morning, Dean’s insides no longer felt like they had been roasted over a white-hot fire and the brand on his shoulder was no longer red and inflamed. He was good to go.

 

Sometime during the night, Castiel had apparently fixed the extensive damage his crash-landing had caused to the bunker, which suggested that he was back at full strength again as well.

 

Now they just needed to come up with a new plan.

 

“I think you were on the right track with the whole tablet idea, Cas,” Dean said. “Obviously, getting the Angel tablet back ain’t gonna happen, but there might be something else we could trade for Sam. If this was any other hostage situation, Crowley would have called with a list of demands by now. Since he hasn’t, we’ll just have to ask him ourselves.”

 

“What if he asks for something we can’t give?”

 

There wasn’t much Dean would hold back if it meant saving his brother. “Let’s just see what he has to say, alright?”

 

They gathered the supplies they would need for a summoning spell and left the bunker to find a secluded location on neutral ground to make the call.

 

Crowley was not stupid enough to walk into an ambush and since successful negotiations relied on a degree of trust, Dean did not attempt to set out any Devil’s Traps. He simply lit the spell ingredients on fire, and waited.

 

“Hello, boys.”

 

Crowley wore the same, self-satisfied smirk he always did, and Dean was tempted to punch the smug expression right off his face. He barely restrained himself.

 

“Crowley. I want my brother back.”

 

“And you think I’ll give him up just because you asked? You didn’t even say please.”

 

Dean swallowed his pride. “Please.”

 

“Charming manners, but I am afraid I have to decline. Sorry Squirrel; I am enjoying Moose’s company far too much to let him go.”

 

Dean tried not to read into his words, but the image of a bloodied drill flashed before his mind’s eye despite his best efforts. Ruthlessly, he pushed it aside.

 

“You’re fond of making deals, Crowley. What do you want in exchange for Sam?”

 

Crowley’s eyes lit up with delight. “My, my. Dean Winchester, standing once more at the crossroads for the sake of his brother. What are you willing to offer me this time? Your soul?”

 

Dean stiffened, hearing the echo of hellhounds chasing him, feeling the sense-memory of his skin being ripped to shreds. But he had gone to Hell for Sam once and, even knowing the horrors that awaited him there, he would do it again in a heartbeat. “Yes.”

 

“Tempting… but no. You have sold your soul once already; it isn’t worth half as much the second time around. Used goods, depreciating value and all that.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“You could take me in Sam’s place,” Castiel said.

 

Dean’s gaze snapped to him. “Cas, no-”

 

The angel silenced him with a look, and turned his attention back to persuading the demon. “I double-crossed you, denied you your half of the Purgatory souls.”

 

“I haven’t forgotten.”

 

“Give Dean back his brother, and I will surrender myself to you. You can finally have your revenge.”

 

“The chance to torture an angel for all eternity,” Crowley mused.

 

Dean felt sick. As desperately as he wanted Sam to come home, he couldn’t help but feel a flood of relief when Crowley eventually shook his head.

 

“No, I don’t think so. Filling Hell with the sound of your screams would be immensely pleasurable, but I’m a business man. Sam is a valuable asset; he shouldn’t be bantered away just for the sake of entertainment.”

 

“Sam is only one hunter among dozens,” Castiel said.

 

“Nice try, angel boy, but I’m not an idiot. I know that the Winchesters are trying to board up Hell, and I also know that Moose is the one doing the trials. I let him go and you boys will pick up right where you left off. I don’t think so.”

 

“What if we promised to stop?” Dean blurted.

 

That gave Crowley pause. “You know, I actually believe you would. Unfortunately, your word does not hold your brother to oath and, unlike you, I doubt Sam considers his own life more important than saving the world. As I recall, he threw himself into the Pit to prevent the Apocalypse. Quite the self-sacrificing hero, our Moose.”

 

Dean refused to feel guilty. Over the years he had sacrificed everything he had for the cause – home, identity, parents, friends, love, his own life and even his brother – but after living for a year without Sam he just knew he couldn’t lose him again. He _couldn’t,_ and if his refusal to let Sam die made him a selfish bastard then so be it.

 

“Well then what _do_ you want, Crowley?” Castiel asked.

 

“Nothing you can give me.”

 

“Try us.”

 

Crowley made a big show of thinking it over before a sly smile curved his lips. “I’ve always wanted a sex slave.”

 

Dean’s breath hitched in his lungs. “Are-are you serious?” he choked out.

 

Crowley snickered. “No. I just wanted to see that panicked expression on your face. You would actually do it, though, wouldn’t you? You would stoop to any low for your precious Sammy.”

 

“What. Do. You. Want?” Castiel growled.

 

“The compendium of tablets and a prophet to translate them for me.”

 

“We are not giving you Kevin,” Dean snapped.

 

“Shame. Sam will continue to enjoy my hospitality for the foreseeable future, then. Sorry boys; no deal.”

 

“Crowley, wait-!”

 

But with a snap of his fingers, the demon vanished.

 

“Son of a _bitch!_ ” Dean yelled, kicking over the remains of the spell.

 

Castiel laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

 

Dean rounded on him, slapping the hand away. “Stop _apologising_ , Cas. And while you’re at it, stop acting the martyr! I don’t want to lose you any more than I want to lose Sam, alright? So no more suicide missions, no more offering yourself up to be tortured, no more of this ‘I need to do penance’ and ‘I deserve to die’ crap. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Cas was doing a good impression of a kicked puppy, backing away and staring at him with big, sad eyes. “I was only trying to help.”

 

Dean’s anger deflated. He looked away, unable to meet the angel’s gaze. “I know. And you _are_ helping. You’re keeping me sane. I just… I can’t watch you die again.”

 

“I share the sentiment, you know,” Cas said quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Dean whispered. “Come on, Cas, let’s go home.”

 

ooOOoo


	8. Chapter 8

"I want to hit the warehouses again," Dean said.

 

Castiel looked up from the text he was reading. He could see from Dean's body language that the hunter was agitated and more than a little restless, which was understandable; Sam had now been captive for three weeks and they were still no closer to finding a way to free him.

 

"I thought we agreed that raiding Crowley's strongholds was a pointless exercise."

 

“Even if Sam isn’t there, at least there will be a dozen or so less demons in the world by the time we’re done. I count that as a win.”

 

“Or one less hunter,” Castiel countered.

 

"I don't care."

 

Dean was clearly itching for a fight and didn't seem in the mood to listen to reason. Castiel was reluctant to indulge him, though – he was all for Dean releasing some of his pent up frustration, but not at risk to his life.

 

“If the demons are on guard duty, they are causing no harm. For every demon we kill, however, Crowley sends another and that means one more human will have to be taken as a host.” He knew that Dean would not want to take any action that would cost innocent lives if it was not absolutely necessary. “Besides, your brother would be better served if we focused our efforts on finding the other tablets.” Most of Castiel’s time in recent days had been spent pouring over the literature the Men of Letters had collected, searching for any clues or references to the ‘Words of God’.

 

"Yeah, awesome plan," Dean said sarcastically. "Except we have no idea how many there are and they could be scattered across the globe for all we know. It took Dick Roman months to find the Leviathan tablet and he had the money and resources to run archaeological digs all over the place. It would take us years and even if we do eventually find them, Crowley won't trade Sam for them anyway because he needs a prophet to act as translator and we won't give him Kevin. So what the hell is the point of any of it?”

 

"Well if not the tablets, then what?"

 

"I don't know!” Dean began to pace restlessly, his gaze flicking randomly around the room as though searching for inspiration. “Summon Crowley back and unload a clip of iron bullets into his skull? Knife every damn demon on the face of the planet until Crowley runs out of goons? Get the ‘Words of God’ straight from the horse's mouth?"

 

Castiel frowned. "I do not think an equine could be of much assistance in this matter."

 

A tired smile quirked at the corner of Dean's lips. "It's a phrase, Cas. It means going to the source, which in this case would be God and we already know what a dead end that is."

 

Castiel did not like to be reminded of the Father he had lost faith in, but Dean’s words had sparked an idea in his mind. “We don’t need God,” he realised. “We need his scribe.”

 

“What?”

 

“Who,” Castiel corrected. “Metatron, the angel who wrote down God’s Word. Rumour is that Metatron fled Heaven when God left and is hiding out somewhere on Earth.”

 

“And you think he’ll remember what was written on the tablets?”

 

“God’s spoken word is not something an angel would forget.”

 

Dean stopped pacing, clearly relieved to have a new lead that actually showed promise, and sat down at the table. He dragged Sam’s laptop towards himself. “Okay, then. Let’s find him. Has he still got his juice?”

 

“He was not stripped of his Grace.”

 

“So he’ll be like Gabriel, then,” Dean surmised. “Masquerading as a Trickster or some other type of God.”

 

“Metatron was originally from the secretarial pool, and his intention was to lay low. He is unlikely to be actively causing trouble or interfering with the lives of humans.”

 

“He’s a nerd?”

 

“He does have an affinity for books,” Castiel recalled. “He was always asking our older brothers to tell him stories of Earth, and when he was not performing his duties as a scribe he was reading any literary material he had access to.”

 

“So he’s a nerd. He’d probably set himself up as a god of literature or scribes or writers or something. I’ll start a web search on that. Can you pop over to see Kevin and see if there is anything else he can tell us?”

 

Castiel agreed, though he lingered for a moment to make sure that Dean had indeed transitioned into research mode and was not about to slip off to hunt demons on his own.

 

Kevin told him about the personal note that Metatron had added onto the end of the demon tablet, and showed him a symbol that the Scribe had used as his signature. When Castiel brought this information back to Dean, the hunter was able to compare it with the information he had found on various gods and goddesses affiliated with the written word.

 

“I’ve seen that symbol somewhere…” Dean flicked through the ‘tabs’ on his ‘Internet’ until he stopped on a page titled _Native American Art and Culture_. “Yeah, here it is. It’s a territorial marker used by a little Indian tribe in Colorado, supposed to mean ‘Messenger of God’. Apparently, the ‘Tribe of Two Rivers’ gave offerings of stories and books to the ‘Sacred Messenger of the spirits’ in return for immortality.”

 

“Sacred Messenger,” Castiel echoed. The name fit. “Metatron.”

 

“Sounds like. Let’s go pay him a visit, shall we?”

 

Castiel was able to zap them to the ‘Two Rivers’ Hotel in an instant. He was relieved to notice that Dean was no longer recoiling from his touch, although he did mumble something about missing his Baby. Since he was reasonably sure that Dean was not the father of an infant, Castiel assumed he meant the Impala. Dean had not had the chance to drive his car in weeks, but he offered no objection to the much faster transportation an angel could offer when it was Sam’s life at stake. When Sam was returned to them, Cas resolved that he would encourage Dean to go on a road trip, and perhaps even request that he be allowed to accompany him. Dean held such reverence for cruising along empty highways in his automobile that Castiel found he would like to share the experience to gain a greater understanding of why the hunter enjoyed it so much… and to spend more time with him.

 

For now, he focused on the task at hand.

 

“Only one room in this building has angel proofing,” Castiel reported. Another wing-beat and they were inside the hotel, standing outside Room 366.

 

Dean shrugged. “Here goes nothing.”

 

Sometimes, Castiel did not understand human phraseology. “Everything depends on this, Dean.”

 

The hunter sighed. “No pressure.” He raised a hand and knocked on the door, calling out, “Book delivery!”

 

When there was no response, Dean knocked harder until the door abruptly gave way beneath his knuckles.

 

The bearded face of a middle-aged man appeared around the doorway. He glared at Dean and grumbled irritably, “You’re supposed to leave them at the door-”

 

Then he saw Castiel and his eyes widened. He immediately tried to slam the door closed but Dean stuck his foot out to block it. “Wait a second! We need your help!”

 

Metatron looked to be on the verge of zapping out of there, so Cas reached forward and snatched the front of his shirt, determined that wherever the Scribe went he would go as well. “Hear us out, Metatron.”

 

“You’re Castiel, right? You’re one of Michael’s foot soldiers.”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

The scribe looked at him more carefully. “You have Fallen? Are you in league with Lucifer, then?”

 

“I have Fallen, died, and been reborn more than once. My allegiance is to the humans, not to God, and not to any angel who would seek to rule.”

 

“Huh. I didn’t realise any of you fighter-types actually knew how to think for yourselves. I’m impressed. Although, aligning with humans may not have been the smartest move. They’re fickle creatures, you know.”

 

“Hey, human standing right here,” Dean protested.

 

“Yes. Who are you, exactly?”

 

“You don’t know?” Castiel asked in surprise.

 

“Should I?”

 

Castiel had never met an angel who did not know this man. “This is Dean Winchester. Descendant of the line of Cain and Able, offspring of the Campbell hunters and the Winchester Men of Letters, older brother of Sam Winchester. The Righteous Man destined to be Michael’s true vessel. One of the men responsible for averting the Apocalypse and locking away Michael and Lucifer in the Pit for good-”

 

“Michael and Lucifer are gone?”

 

“Dude, where have you been?” Dean asked. “Don’t you have any idea what has been going on out there?”

 

“I left for a reason. I want no part in Heaven’s affairs.”

 

“Well that’s fan-friggin’-tastic. What have you been doing, hiding in here reading books while the entire universe goes to Hell?”

 

The stacks of books Castiel could see through the doorway were answer enough.

 

“We could have used your help, Metatron. God spoke to you; you of all angels would have known what it was He expected us to do in his absence. The archangels would have listened to you.”

 

Metatron shook his head. “No. No, they were going to take over Heaven no matter what I said, and they would have killed me if I didn’t get out of their way.”

 

“You’re a coward,” Dean snarled. “Cas risked everything to stand against those dicks because he knew it was the right thing to do, but you just ran away to save your own skin.”

 

“What do you want from me? I’m not returning to Heaven. I don’t owe them anything.”

 

Dean looked ready to argue further, but Castiel was not going to insist that Metatron try to fix the mess in Heaven when he was the one who had caused most of the damage during his own misguided bid for power.

 

“That is not what we are asking of you.”

 

“Then why have you come here?”

 

“Because you are the Scribe of God, and we need to know what is written on the tablets.”

 

“That knowledge is not intended for the angels.”

 

“No, it’s for the humans, right?” Dean asked. “Well, our kid prophet is having a rough time getting us the information we need.”

 

“It takes years of study to grasp the full scope of Knowledge offered in the compendium.”

 

“We don’t _have_ years. Maybe it has slipped your notice, but it is a full-scale war out there. Demons and Angels alike are wreaking havoc on our planet and thousands of humans are dying in the crossfire. My own _brother_ has been caught in the middle of this whole mess, and you are the only one who can save him.”

 

“Your brother?” Metatron chuckled. “Oh-ho, so Mr High and Mighty is not as selfless as he tries to seem. You haven’t come here for the sake of the Earth, you’re doing this for yourself.”

 

Dean gritted his teeth. “Will you help us or not?”

 

“What’s in it for me?”

 

“You like stories, don’t you?” Cas asked. It was a rhetorical question. “Help us rescue Sam, and I will catch you up on all of the real-life stories you have missed during your… sabbatical. In particular, I can recommend a series of books I am sure you will find interesting; it is actually truth written as fiction by one of your prophets. The Winchester Gospels.”

 

Metatron’s eyes lit up even as Dean groaned. “Not the Supernatural books, Cas, why would you advertise those?”

 

Castiel’s expression hardened. “He needs to know what has been going on in the real world.”

 

“I’m with you on that one.” Dean blew out a sigh. “Fine, so will you help us, Metatron?”

 

“What would this ‘help’ entail?”

 

Dean scratched his head awkwardly. “Ah, well… we need to make a trade. The knowledge of the tablets for my brother.”

 

“A trade with whom?”

 

“Um, a demon called Crowley… the, ah, new King of Hell.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Metatron exclaimed, looking wildly between the two of them as though expecting to be told that it was just a joke. “Do you have any idea how much power is contained in those tablets? In the wrong hands, it could be used to tear apart the very fabric of reality!”

 

“Well, just don’t tell him that part. Leave out the dangerous stuff, okay? Just give him enough to convince him to release Sam and then high-tail it out of there.”

 

“You’re crazy. One human is not worth that much.”

 

“He’s my _brother_.”

 

“And he’s not just any human,” Castiel added, “he is the one undergoing the trials to board up Hell.”

 

Metatron raised his eyebrows. “Really? So you’re going to all this effort to save him, only to watch him die?”

 

Dean froze. “What?”

 

“The trials are going to kill him,” Metatron said, and he sounded so matter-of-fact about it even as Dean doubled over like the words had been a physical blow.

 

“No,” Dean gasped. His face was ashen. “No, that’s not true.”

 

“I put a warning in at the end there. Didn’t you know what you were getting into?”

 

“We haven’t translated that far,” Dean choked out.

 

“Oh.” Metatron stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Well, it’s up to you, but if you really care about your brother you will probably want to convince him to stop.”

 

“I…have to get him back, first.”

 

“True.”

 

“Please… please, will you help us?”

 

“Tell you what. I’ll formally end the trials and bring your brother back to full health, thus saving Crowley and his fellow demons from being locked away in Hell. If that is not enough for him, I am afraid you are on your own.”

 

Dean and Cas shared a look. “Do you think he’ll go for it?” Castiel asked.

 

“Only one way to find out.”

 

ooOOoo


	9. Chapter 9

“It’s a deal, Metatron,” Dean said. For the first time in weeks, they were actually getting somewhere. The plan was promising enough that Dean was willing to let himself believe this ordeal was finally coming to an end. They would make the trade and Sam would come home. Simple. Easy. “You fix my brother and we’ll give you the Supernatural series to read – all 24 books.”

 

“Plus copies of the unpublished works,” Castiel added.

 

Dean glared at him but didn’t contest the statement. As much as he hated the idea of people reading his entire life story as a form of _entertainment_ , he would endure worse humiliations to get Sam back.

 

“Agreed. Will you let go of me so we can shake on it properly, Castiel?”

 

Castiel released the fistful of Metatron’s shirt he had been holding on to. The scribe straightened his collar and tugged his clothes back into their proper alignment.

 

“That’s better,” he said.

 

And in the blink of an eye, he vanished.

 

“NO!” Dean roared. He lurched forward, too late, catching only empty air. “ _Son of a BITCH_! Metatron, you rat BASTARD, get your ass back here right the hell now!”

 

“Dean-”

 

“I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself, you fu-”

 

“Dean! He’s long gone and insulting him won’t bring him back.”

 

“He’s a friggin’ liar! We were supposed to have a deal! He was supposed to save Sam!”

 

“We’ll find another way.”

 

“No. NO! There _is_ no other way. This was our last option, Cas. Plan A was a bust, Plan B didn’t end much better, Plan C sucked ass, and Plan D just flew out the friggin’ window! The well is dry, the game is up, we are _out of ideas_.” Worse, he now knew the truth about the trials and there was nothing he could do. “My brother is _dying_ and I can’t save him. I. Can’t. Save. Him. My baby brother is gonna die. He’s gonna die, Cas, and I’m never gonna see him again…”

 

It finally sunk in. Sam was gone.

 

Dean staggered, the loss of his brother slamming into him with the all the force of a freight train.

 

Sam was gone.

 

He had done everything he could and it wasn’t good enough. He had failed Sam, _again._ And Sam was _gone._

 

His legs gave way beneath the crushing weight of horror and grief pressing down on him, but he didn’t hit the floor.

 

Strong arms encircled his waist, holding him up, supporting him when he had no strength left. Dean collapsed against the warm, solid chest of his angel, too wrecked to feel embarrassed as helpless tears welled up in his eyes and spilled over. His body shook with sobs, and Castiel only held on tighter.

 

“I’ve got you,” Cas said roughly. He didn’t say ‘Everything is going to be okay’ or ‘We will find your brother’ or ‘Do not give up hope’ or ‘You will be alright’. He didn’t lie, or offer false platitudes. But as Dean’s entire world was falling apart, Cas said exactly what he needed to hear. It couldn’t make anything better. It couldn’t fix what was broken. It couldn’t heal his wounds or take away his pain.

 

But it was a promise, and it kept Dean breathing.

 

“I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”

 

ooOOoo

 

_Castiel._

 

The angel was sitting by his hunter’s bedside, keeping watch over him as he slept. It took a great deal of concentration to be the sentinel of dreams, but Cas was determined to keep nightmares away from Dean’s subconscious. He suffered enough during every waking moment, the absence of his brother an ache that would never ease, and he needed the rest. It was the least Cas could do.

 

_Castiel._

 

The prayer line was always open, but Castiel could care less that someone was calling him. Whoever it was, they weren’t Dean and Dean needed him more.

 

_Don’t be that way, darling. We were good together once, weren’t we?_

Crowley. Cas ignored him. He had only ever felt disdain for the self-proclaimed King of Hell, but the demon had earned his hatred when he destroyed Dean.

 

_I have another business proposition for you._

Castiel wasn’t interested. He had learned better than to make a deal with the Devil.

 

_I’m ready to make a trade for Sam. But if you’ve changed your mind…_

“Wait.”

 

Crowley turned as Castiel appeared behind him, a cocky grin spreading over his features. “Hello, sweetheart.”

 

Castiel recognised their surroundings. They were standing outside the first warehouse he and Dean had raided in their attempts to find Sam; a deliberate choice by the demon, he was sure, designed to torment him.

 

“What do you want, Crowley? I thought you said we had nothing to offer.”

 

“That was then. This is now.”

 

“What changed?”

 

“I had a little chat with Metatron. You’ve met, I believe.”

 

Castiel was shocked. He was sure the Scribe would have gone into hiding again, somewhere where no one would be able to find him this time. “He came to you?”

 

“Yes. He wanted to make a deal.”

 

It didn’t make sense. If Metatron had intended to follow through with their plan, why had he left so abruptly? And why hadn’t Sam been returned to them by now?

 

“For Sam?” he questioned.

 

“Sam was involved, yes. Metatron said he could fix my little trials problem if I obtained something for him in return.”

 

So Metatron had kept his side of the bargain, sort of, but he was using the situation to achieve his own ends, whatever they were. One thing was certain; this was not about books or stories. This was about something bigger, much bigger. Castiel had a very bad feeling about this.

 

“You have to be getting more from the deal than you are saying, or you wouldn’t have bothered. You could have just killed Sam to end the trials, and you wouldn’t have to give anything up.”

 

Crowley smirked. “You’re not as dumb as you look, princess. Let’s just say that Metatron and I have an… understanding. We have a great deal in common, he and I. Mutually beneficial goals, as it were. I give him what he asked for, and we both get what we have wanted for a very long time.”

 

That sounded ominous, but Castiel couldn’t imagine what the demon might be talking about. “What?”

 

“That would be telling, darling.”

 

“Why have you told me any of this?”

 

“Well, you and your pet human want dear old Sammy, back, don’t you?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“He is no longer a significant threat to me, so I am willing to make a trade. It just so happens that the item Metatron requested from me is in your possession. Give it to me, and I will let Sam go. Everybody wins.”

 

“And if I give it to you, what happens?”

 

“That is none of your concern, angel boy. This is a one-time offer. Say no, and the Winchesters will never have their sappy little reunion. Say yes, and you’ll be Dean’s hero. What’ll it be?”

 

He was wary of the consequences, but there was nothing he would not give if it meant Dean could have his brother back. He only wanted Dean to be happy.

 

Castiel steeled himself. “What is it you want?”

 

ooOOoo

 

Dean was going out of his mind with worry.

 

Cas had vanished without a word two days ago and there had been no sign of him since. The disappearing acts had been a trademark of the angel from the beginning, but the last time Cas had left like this he had nearly gotten himself killed trying to take back the Angel tablet from Heaven.

 

Cas wouldn’t leave without good reason. Dean was ashamed to admit it, but he hadn’t exactly been subtle about his desperate need to have the angel around; he had practically been clinging onto him like a girl since the deal with Metatron had fallen through. Cas had not complained or teased him about it, he simply stayed in close proximity and made sure Dean knew he wasn’t alone. He was patient with Dean’s outbursts, unfazed by his mood swings, determined to make sure he ate, cautious with the amount of alcohol he let Dean consume, and always gentle when offering the comfort Dean needed.

 

No one had ever taken care of Dean like that. He had always been the older brother, the loyal son, the protective boyfriend and father figure, the stalwart hero. Needing to keep up appearances and show no sign of weakness, Dean had never allowed himself to surrender enough control to let someone else look after him.

 

But Castiel had slipped into the role of protector and caretaker without being asked, and instead of feeling uncomfortable Dean only felt tremendous relief. He didn’t have to be strong anymore, he didn’t have to pretend anymore. Cas saw him for who he really was and he had no judgement to give, only acceptance, only friendship and maybe… maybe something more, if it was what Dean wanted.

 

Falling asleep with Cas right there, watching over him, keeping him safe, Dean had almost been able to believe he would be okay. And then he had woken up the next morning to find that the angel was gone. It nearly killed him.

 

He stood at the table Cas had destroyed when he crash-landed in the bunker, irrationally expecting the angel to reappear in the same place when he returned. He couldn’t cope with the possibility that Cas might not come back. He refused to even consider it. Cas was the one person who always came back to him. Sometimes it took longer than others, but he _always_ came back. Always.

 

A knock on the door to the bunker startled Dean out of his reverie.

 

Hope flared in his gut.

 

Training reminded him to grab a weapon for self-defence just in case, but there was no room for anything besides hope in his heart as he sprinted up the stairs.

 

He flung open the door.

 

“Cas-!”

 

It wasn’t Cas.

 

It wasn’t _just_ Cas.

 

“Oh my god. Oh my _god._ Cas, you-you-”

 

A small, tired smile lifted the corner of Castiel’s lips. “I brought him home.”

 

Dean couldn’t believe it. But he couldn’t _not_ believe it, because he didn’t believe in God or happy endings but he damn well believed in Cas. And Cas had brought him a miracle. “ _Sam_.”

 

For a moment Dean could only stare, basking in the sight of his brother, whole and safe and _right there,_ looking tired and a little worn around the edges and in dire need of a shower, but healthy and alive and _not dead._ Then Dean could hold back no longer; he snatched his brother from the angel’s supportive grip and enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug.

 

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said. His voice was quiet and rough, but it was the sweetest sound Dean had ever heard.

 

“Sam,” he replied, unable to think of anything else to say. He simply squeezed tighter, letting the embrace communicate the ‘I missed you’ and ‘Thank god’ and ‘Are you okay?’ and ‘You’re home’ and ‘Don’t ever do that to me again’ and ‘I love you’.

 

It was an eternity before Dean could bring himself to let go, and longer before he could tear his eyes away from his brother.

 

But finally, he looked at Cas.

 

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Cas said. “We had to drive, and the car mysteriously stopped working a few blocks from here so we had to walk the rest of the-”

 

Dean kissed him.

 

It was as though his body moved of its own accord. One moment he was standing there, listening to Cas explain why they had been delayed, and the next he had stepped forward, right into the angel’s personal space. Without so much as a split second of hesitation, he grabbed the lapels of Castiel’s trench coat, tugged him close and pressed their lips together in a searing kiss.

 

He felt like a drowning man coming up for air.

 

Castiel gasped and Dean plunged his tongue past his parted lips, licking and teasing and tangling with Castiel’s own until the angel finally got with the program and responded with equal fervour. Fingers carded into his hair, pulling Dean in deeper as Castiel angled their mouths together. It was less a battle for dominance and more a playful dance as their lips rubbed and sucked and their tongues slipped and curled around each other.

 

Needing to be closer, Dean let go of the coat and slid his arms around his angel, splaying his hands across his back. Castiel gave a little moan and pressed up against him, drawing a similar sound from Dean as their bodies aligned and he finally felt _home_ for the first time in his life. He could stay like this forever.

 

Gradually, the desperation eased and the kiss became something gentler, sweeter. Dean pressed little kisses to the corner of Castiel’s mouth and let the angel suckle at his lower lip, giving a huff of quiet laughter as Cas tilted his head the other way for better access and they bumped noses. Dean kissed him again just because he could, feeling more than a little giddy. Oxygen was rapidly becoming an issue, though, so he reluctantly pulled away. Castiel mewled in discontent, lips seeking, but Dean rested their foreheads together. “Breathe,” he whispered.

 

As their breath mingled and slowed, Castiel opened his eyes. Dean gazed into fathomless blue, recognising the way that his angel was looking at him. He knew what it meant, what it had always meant.

 

“I love you, too,” Dean murmured.

 

Castiel’s answering smile could have outshone the sun.

 

“Uh, guys? I’m standing right here.”

 

Dean and Cas broke apart to look at Sam sheepishly.

 

Sam had his eyebrows raised, looking surprised, a little horrified, and very much amused. “Did I miss something?”

 

Dean hadn’t meant to kiss his angel in full view of his brother, but he didn’t regret it for a moment. “No, Sammy, I think you caught the whole show.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, wrinkling his nose. “Now I have to go and wash my eyes out with soap.”

 

“You should wash the rest of you while you’re at it. You stink, Sasquatch.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Dean grinned, clapping Sam on the back. “You’re welcome. Take a nice loooong shower, okay? And turn the water up extra loud, will ya?”

 

Sam’s face blanched. “Oh god, I don’t want to know.” He hurried down the stairs, covering his ears. “I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know…”

 

Dean turned to Castiel, a suggestive smile curving his lips as he pulled his angel in closer once more. “Alone at last.”

 

ooOOoo


	10. Chapter 10

It took a few hours for Dean to come down from his high. It felt like he had been stressed and worried and angry and grieving for a lifetime, and to suddenly have his brother home safe and his angel in his arms sent Dean shooting for the moon. He had never been happier, ever. This was the best day of his life, and he was sure nothing could spoil it.

 

Only once Sam had gone to bed, and Dean finally found the will to stop kissing Castiel for a few minutes to let the guy catch his breath, did he think to ask how Castiel had managed to pull off Sam’s rescue.

 

When Castiel told him, Dean was stunned. And not in a good way.

 

“You traded _what_?”

 

“It was the only way, Dean. That was Crowley’s price, and I willingly paid it.”

 

“But your _Grace_? You gave him your _Grace_?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He said it like it was not a big deal, but Dean remembered the last time Cas had lost his mojo. He remembered how utterly helpless the powered-down angel had been, how he had felt useless in the fight against evil, how he had been lost and frustrated. Worse, Dean remembered the human version of Castiel that he had met in the future; the man had been on self-destruct, unshaven and unkempt, drowning in drugs, women and decadence. He didn’t want his Cas turning into that. He had told Cas not to change, but now he had, and he hadn’t even consulted Dean about it.

 

“Why, _why_ would you give up your Grace?”

 

Cas just looked at him. “Do you have to ask?”

 

No, he didn’t. He knew Cas had done it for him.

 

“Damn it.”

 

“It’s okay, Dean.”

 

“No it’s not! Do you even know what Crowley wanted your Grace for?”

 

“He wouldn’t tell me. But your brother is home, Dean, isn’t that all that matters?”

 

Although Dean couldn’t complain about the outcome, he just _knew_ that Crowley couldn’t be planning anything good. “This is going to come back and bite us in the ass, you know that, don’t you?”

 

“We’ll cross that road when we come to it.”

 

“Bridge,” Dean corrected, almost smirking despite himself at the endearing way Cas messed up human sayings. But then he sighed. “What about you? Are you okay?”

 

“It only hurt for a moment,” Cas answered slowly.

 

That was good, at least. Crowley could have easily turned the exchange into a torture session by taking advantage of Cas once he was made human, but thankfully the demon tended to be true to his word and stuck to the letter of any deal he made.

 

This was about more than physical pain, though. “Yeah, but, being human. Isn’t it freaking you out?”

 

“Six billion of you seem to manage. I am sure I will adjust.”

 

“Being human is crappy, though.”

 

“Not in all aspects.” He reached out to trail his fingers down Dean’s arm, a coy smile curving his lips. “In fact, I have found some things to be _immensely_ pleasurable.”

 

Dean smirked. “There is that.” And it was definitely the one thing humanity had that trumped being an angel. “Are you going to be alright with the rest of it, though?” He couldn’t help but worry about Cas getting hurt and not being able to heal himself straight away, or Cas having his first nightmare, or Cas catching a cold.

 

Castiel’s face twisted into a grimace. “I dislike needing to urinate.”

 

That startled a laugh out of Dean. “Whoa, overshare, buddy.”

 

“The feeling of hunger, too, is unpleasant, but I find the taste of food far more enjoyable now.”

 

Dean grinned as a world of possibilities opened up before him. “We have _got_ to visit Nanna McPherson’s pie shop together some time.” His mind conjured up images of snuggling up with Cas in a booth, feeding him mouthfuls of freshly baked apple pie, watching the way his mouth closed over the fork and slowly drew back, the bounce of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed and the entrancing way he would lick the crumbs from his lips… “Oh yeah. Soon. Very soon.”

 

“I’d like that.”

 

“Anything else bothering you?”

 

“Cold and heat are sensations I will have to get used to, and I will need to remember to shower regularly…”

 

A mischievous smile came to Dean’s lips. “I can help you with that.” It took Castiel a moment to catch onto his meaning, but then his pupils dilated and Dean had to remind himself that they were in the middle of an important conversation. “Seriously though, Cas, you’re cool with this whole thing? I mean, you’re mortal now, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes. But that, I do not mind so much.”

 

“Why not?” Of everything, Dean thought that being confined to a human lifespan had to scare Cas the most. But for some strange reason the ex-angel was smiling, as though he was actually _happy_ about having only 50 or so years left to live.

 

Castiel shifted closer so their knees were touching, and took Dean’s hands in his own. Blue eyes sparkled like sunlight glinting off ocean waves. “Because, Dean, it means I will be able to spend my life with you.”

 

Dean’s breath caught in his throat.

 

“If you will have me,” Castiel amended.

 

In response, Dean kissed him.

 

ooOOoo

 

Dean lounged in an armchair, sipping 12-year-old scotch and feeling utterly content with his life.

 

“Any of that left?” Sam asked as he entered the room.

 

Dean still felt a flood of relief every time he saw his brother and a pang of fear when Sam left his sight, but he was sure that in a few days they would be back to their usual bickering. For now, he just accepted the emotions as after-effects of their ordeal and focused on enjoying Sam’s company.

 

He gestured to the little table in the corner of the room. “Yeah, help yourself.”

 

Sam poured himself a glass and pulled up a chair.

 

“Where’s Cas?”

 

Dean couldn’t help but smile at the mention of his- well, they hadn’t really labelled their relationship in generic terms like ‘partners’ or ‘boyfriends’ yet, but Cas tended to call Dean his hunter and Dean was content to think of Cas as _his_ Cas, so what the rest of the world viewed them as didn’t matter.

 

“He’s outside spending some quality time with the bees.” Castiel’s fascination with the little insects had come to light during his mental siesta, but even with his sanity intact he still delighted in watching them. Dean wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he thought it was cute.

 

“Please tell me he has clothes on this time.”

 

Dean smirked. “For now.”

 

“Is that all you think about?”

 

“Mostly, yeah.” He couldn’t help it. Cas was new to being human, and Dean was helping him explore the best experience humanity had to offer. Regularly. And loudly.

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Gross, dude.”

 

Dean hesitated, realising for the first time that this had to be strange for his brother. Dean had always been straight, no question, no experimentation. Falling for Cas had been entirely unexpected, but it wasn’t like he was in love with a gender or a body shape, he was in love with _Cas._ The fact that he happened to be incredibly hot with the most gorgeous eyes in all of existence was just an added bonus. Dean had to wonder, though, if his sudden change in sexual orientation was weirding Sam out. “Do you really think so?”

 

Sam was quick to assuage his fears. “Nah, man, I’m cool with the two of you being together.”

 

Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief.

 

“I think it is about time, actually. I’ve been waiting for you to get together for years.”

 

“Really?” How had Sam known they would end up as a couple when Dean himself hadn’t even suspected?

 

“Dude, a blind man could see the way you guys feel about each other. You just needed a bit of a nudge to see it for yourselves.”

 

“Hell of a nudge,” Dean said glumly. He wished it had not taken Sam being abducted to make him realise how much he needed Cas in his life. “I’m sorry it took us so long to save you, Sam.”

 

“You did the best you could. And I’m fine Dean, really I am. It wasn’t exactly a holiday in a beach resort, but it was nothing compared to the Pit. Besides, now that the trials have been burned out of me, I actually feel better than I did before Crowley took me.”

 

“I’m glad we found out what the trials would do to you before it was too late.” Dean shuddered at the thought that Sam might have unknowingly killed himself in his attempt to board up Hell.

 

“Yeah, me too.” Sam gave him a sly, side-long glance, and a teasing lilt entered his voice. “It would have been a shame to miss my brother getting married, adopting a few kids and growing old with his husband.”

 

Once, Dean had been unable to see a future like that for himself. He had always assumed that he was going to die young, ripped to bloody shreds by one of the monsters he hunted, and he had long since become resigned to his fate. But now he could almost picture it; a nice little house with a backyard to play football in and a sensible family car parked in the driveway, a little tyke chasing bees in the garden as his too-large trench coat trailed on the ground behind him, a blue-eyed girl squealing with excitement in Castiel’s arms as he spun her around so she felt like she was flying…

 

“Oh man, you should see the sappy look on your face right now, Dean.”

 

Dean shook himself out of his daze and glared at his brother. “Shut up, Sam.”

 

Sam laughed, but when the hilarity faded his smile softened. “Cas really makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

 

“I don’t think I knew what happiness was until he came along,” Dean confessed. “Now that I’m with him, everything just feels… lighter.” Like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Brighter.” Like the sun shone just for them. “ _Better._ I had no idea that living could feel this good. I am, I’m happy Sam. And god help me, I’m turning into a love-sick teenage girl.”

 

“Aw, I think it’s sweet, Deany.”

 

Dean swatted Sam’s arm. “Respect your elders.”

 

“Technically, I’ve lived longer than you.”

 

“Years not lived on Earth don’t count.”

 

“Well, if you factor in maturity levels…”

 

“I’m plenty mature!”

 

“Yeah, yeah you are, Dean… for an eleven year old.”

 

“You’re an eleven year old!”

 

“Witty, Dean…”

 

The banter came as naturally as breathing to the two brothers. Trading insults and comebacks with Sam, Dean felt like the world was finally back to the way it should be.

 

That was, until every alarm in the building went off at once.

 

“Dean!”

 

Castiel’s voice could barely be heard over the din, but Dean was already running. He burst into the main room to find a rash of red lights spreading across the electronic map and every button on every console flashing. His eyes sought out Cas, prioritising his safety over everything else, and located him on the upper landing. Castiel’s face had drained of colour and he was pointing urgently out the door, like the threat that had the bunker going wild was right on their doorstep.

 

Dean didn’t hesitated, sprinting up the staircase with Sam hot on his heels. Castiel caught his wrist, fingers tightening over his pulse, and tugged him outside.

 

A firestorm was raining from the heavens.

 

“What’s going on?” Dean yelled as deafening explosions shook the countryside.

 

“Meteor shower?”

 

Castiel shook his head, seeing more than they could even without his mojo. “Angels.”

 

“They’re Falling?” Sam gasped. “All of them?”

 

“What? How?”

 

“I don’t know!” Cas exclaimed. “It shouldn’t be possible! To expel the angels from Heaven would take a spell more powerful than any known to man, demon or angel.”

 

A terrible thought occurred to Dean. “But God would know, wouldn’t he? And if he wanted it written on the Angel tablet, that means-”

 

Horror dawned on Castiel’s features. “-Metatron knows.”

 

“He made a deal with Crowley, and they stole your Grace. What if it was one of the ingredients they needed for the spell?”

 

Tears welled up in Castiel’s eyes as he watched his brethren fall from the sky. “Then this is all my fault.”

 

Dean grabbed his shoulders, forcibly turning Cas around to face him. “No. Don’t you dare take this on yourself. You didn’t do this; you are not responsible for the actions of a demon and a traitor. You had no way of knowing what they had planned.”

 

“But they used my Grace-”

 

“Which you traded for Sam, for _me._ You had good intentions, and no matter what crap comes from this I am grateful for what you did.”

 

“I – don’t regret it… But the fact remains that I contributed to the decimation of Heaven. I have to find a way to make it right.”

 

Dean looked Cas in the eyes. He could read in their depths the grief, the guilt and the determination Cas felt. He hoped Cas could read the admiration, the support and the sincerity in his. “Then we’ll do it together.”

 

“All three of us,” Sam said.

 

“You’re not alone in this,” Dean promised. “We’ll deal with it the same way we always do. As a family. Okay?”

 

“Okay,” Cas echoed quietly.

 

Dean leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

 

“We’ll work it out, Cas. You’ll see.”

 

Cas shifted so his forehead rested against Dean’s. The words he uttered were soft. “I’d be lost without you.”

 

Dean felt exactly the same way about Cas. If the past month had taught him anything, it was how much they needed each other. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me.”

 

Despite everything, despite the grief of the moment and the knowledge of the long hard road ahead, Cas smiled.

 

They had each other. What more did they need?

 

ooOOoo

**The End**

 

_A/N: Cue Season 9, with a Destiel twist ;)_


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